


killed with kindness

by veterization



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-02 00:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 52,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19188562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterization/pseuds/veterization
Summary: Goro can't quite figure out why so many people keep acting like they're his friend. (Or: the one where the Phantom Thieves decide to know thy enemy, befriend thy enemy, love thy enemy, crush on thy enemy).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i had this innocent little idea one day of the phantom thieves catching on to akechi way earlier in the game and deciding that the best way to figure out what he knows is to befriend the shit out of him until he spills the beans, and then that idea went rogue and decided to spawn an entire story that i knew i had to write (and HERE WE ARE). ryuji would hate it and grumble about it at every opportunity. ann probably wouldn't mind. but akira would mind the LEAST OF ALL, if you catch my drift.
> 
> also, it's worth mentioning that this was meant to be a somewhat medium-length oneshot, but when it surpassed the 50k mark, i decided to split it up into chapters. the entire story is finished, so updates will be regular and i promise this story won't disappear into the wip void.
> 
> story kicks off on 6/9, national Akechi Fucked Up Day!

**Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?**  
Abraham Lincoln 

 

“That guy’s gotta be some kinda start-up entertainer or something. He’s never gonna get popular with that kinda hair though.”

“Wait a second,” Morgana says, wriggling to the front of Akira’s bag. “Something was off there.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t he just say he overheard us talking about cake?” Morgana mumbles, eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t I the only one talking about that?”

The weight of Morgana’s words settle in between them like dust mites floating in the air. Ann’s eyes widen; Ryuji’s mouth falls open; Akira feels a heaviness drop down in his stomach. There’s a good chance that was all innocent enough, but—

There’s also a chance something sinister is going on here.

“What the eff, man?” Ryuji says. He seems to be coming to the conclusion Morgana’s proposed the slowest. “You saying that guy’s been to the Metaverse?”

“It’s possible,” Morgana says grimly. “We don’t know any details, but we can’t just overlook this.”

“I agree,” Ann says. She shifts from foot to foot. “You guys think he might be the black mask Madarame mentioned?”

They all exchange uneasy glances. The possibility is undeniable, but so is the chance that this is all a misunderstanding, a situation blown out of proportion by too much speculation and too little fact. Ryuji, however, has jumped straight over uncertain and catapulted himself directly into enraged.

“I bet you it’s him. We can’t just let the guy walk, we gotta drag him back here by his ear and get what we need outta him! No matter what’s going on with him, he’s a threat to the Phantom Thieves.”

“We don’t know that,” Ann says.

“Well, then let’s figure it out.” With conviction, he punches his open palm. “Whatever means necessary.”

Ann rolls her eyes. Morgana is squinting at Ryuji like the guy’s days out of jail are numbered.

A thought comes to Akira.

“No,” he says. “Let’s do the exact opposite.”

\--

Goro approaches the boy he talked to in the hall after the show the following day. He waits until his friends are done swarming around him before he makes his move, determined to initiate a quick, non-threatening introduction before he gets away.

There’s something notable about that kid, more than just the unwavering certainty he answered the interviewer’s questions with when asked about the Phantom Thieves. Goro hadn’t quite considered yet that the Phantom Thieves may be a group of ragtag high school kids, but now that the idea is in his eyeline, he can hardly believe he didn’t see it before.

If nothing else, the boy might provide him with some interesting insight. An insider look into the Phantom Thieves from the perspective of an admirer, rather than how Goro has being viewing them as of late: little more than a nuisance.

“I’m glad I found you,” Goro says once he catches up to the boy, pulling forward that lovable smile he knows cameras enjoy. “I wanted to thank you in person.”

They talk for a while, or rather, Goro talks for a while and steers the conversation where he’s trying to guide it. The boy isn’t particularly talkative, but he smiles as Goro talks about Hegel and how interesting the students from Shujin are. People like being buttered up, and this boy, it seems, is no different, because he readily accepts Goro’s invitation to chat some more in the future.

“Wait,” he says before Goro can take his leave. “Let’s exchange numbers.”

“Oh. What a smart idea,” Goro says, taken only slightly by surprise. He doesn’t give his phone to the boy to type it in himself lest he sees Goro’s paltry list of contacts. “What’s yours?”

They exchange numbers and names again, for good measure. _Akira Kurusu_. Goro wonders, distantly, if it’s a name that’ll prove to be important in time.

Goro tucks his phone back into his pocket afterwards, shooting Kurusu a pleasant smile, completely oblivious of what’s to come.

\--

It’s a Sunday, Goro camped out at his desk and surrounded by a mountain of entrance exam study materials, when a text message comes in.

It is a bit of a surprise, if only because Shido isn’t much of a texter. It isn’t until he glances at the screen that he remembers his number exchange with Kurusu at all.

Akira Kurusu @ 1:51pm: hey

Akira Kurusu @ 1:51pm: are you busy?

Goro squints at his phone. That seems… odd. If Kurusu was having some kind of emergency, he doubts he’d turn to the high school detective he barely knows for help. Surely he knows some sort of competent adult. And surely he has enough friends to keep him otherwise occupied. He had plenty hanging off his arm at the TV studio.

Goro Akechi @ 1:55pm: I’m available. Is something the matter?

Akira Kurusu @ 1:56pm: ah, great

Akira Kurusu @ 1:56pm: do you want to hang out?

So much for the theory of Kurusu having an entire beehive of friends at his beck and call. Goro stares at the text for a while. It’s like an injured bird he’s found on the sidewalk; he isn’t quite sure what to do with it. He’s never gotten offers like this from people his age before.

It might be a smart idea to learn more about Kurusu, which had been, admittedly, his plan when he approached him in the first place. But Goro had intended to do that at his own pace, with his own methods. Like this, he just feels ambushed.

_Ambushed_. A text message to hang out, and Goro’s brain is setting off alarm bells. What on earth does that say about him?

Goro Akechi @ 1:59pm: Truth to be told, I was planning on getting some schoolwork done today. But I appreciate the offer.

Akira Kurusu @ 2:00pm: all right. let me know if you change your mind?

Goro Akechi @ 2:02pm: I will. Thank you anyway.

He keeps staring at his phone for a good five minutes after their exchange, like it’s a bug, a spy’s device. He’s not sure what all that was about just now.

He doesn’t expect it to happen again.

\--

Except that it does.

It’s only two days later, in fact, when Goro runs into Kurusu at the train station during their morning commute. Kurusu’s plucking at the hem of his shirt, wafting air into it, fighting the heat of the bustling station, when Goro notices him and decides to say hello.

It was his original plan, actually. Acquaint himself with Kurusu from a safe distance, extracting no more than small, inconspicuous pieces of information from him every now and then, such as at the station, where both of them would have no time for anything more than a short conversation. The occasional probing question wouldn’t raise any suspicion, while an entire slew of them over the course of an hour may come across like a full-scale interrogation.

“Good morning,” Goro says, sliding up to where Kurusu’s waiting on the platform. “How nice to run into you.”

Kurusu lights up like Goro was exactly the person he was hoping to see. “Funny, I was just about to text you.”

There he goes with the _texting_ again. Goro has to fight to keep his furrowed brows at bay. “Oh?”

“Do you want to get food together after school?”

Perhaps the texting would’ve been better after all. It’s easier to decline an invitation over text, plus it does the superb job of hiding Goro’s reaction to having such an invitation extended in the first place.

“Oh,” he says. He can feel how wide his eyes have gone; he must look like an idiot. “I—I’m not sure, I may have something lined up.”

“Come on,” Kurusu needles. “You can’t bail on me twice.”

“I, well.” Goro remembers his manners, the ones he always amps up in public like he’s trying to impress somebody’s parents. He plays with the hair by his ear. It really is warm here today. “I suppose I can take a bit of time off. Where were you imagining?”

“What about the Diner in Shibuya?”

“That’s fine by me.”

Kurusu smiles. “Great.” A train comes whooshing into the station, bringing a gust of hot air with it. “That’s my train. See you soon.”

“Right.”

Goro watches, still processing, as Kurusu gets swallowed up by the crowds of travelers pushing their way on board. He knows why he’s pursuing Kurusu, why he’s bothering with him at all—but why is Kurusu bothering with him?

\--

He spends the rest of the day ruminating over this—worrying, perhaps—until he’s meant to head for Shibuya, at which point it’s too late to cancel without running the risk of being rude. Goro has spent months crafting the image of the charming, courteous, well-mannered Detective Prince; he isn’t going to let one unexpected afternoon with a suspect ruin that.

Akira texts him what table he’s at and where to find him around four in the afternoon. Goro plans ahead as he walks to the Diner: what sort of questions he can sneak in without raising suspicion, what Kurusu may be scheming on his end, what themes of conversation he should be pushing. This meeting may not have been his idea, but Goro intends to milk it for what it’s worth regardless.

He spots Kurusu quickly enough in the dimly-lit diner. That wondrous cloud of black hair is unmistakable, which Goro follows all the way over to a booth Kurusu’s settled at.

His bag, propped up on the table, seems to shift. Goro follows the movement, slightly alarmed.

“Hi there,” Goro says.

Kurusu jerks up from the book he’s reading. “Hey,” he says. “Come sit. I ordered some FruiTea for you, hope you don’t mind.”

Goro pretends he doesn’t mind when people order for him. He sits down.

“How was your day?” Kurusu asks.

It’s not a question Goro expects. He may be greener to this hanging out business than he anticipated. “Fine,” he settles on. “But extremely busy. It seems like my life has no intention of slowing down as of late.”

“Maybe I can give you a break here and there.”

“That’s, uh. That’s very considerate, Kurusu-kun.”

Kurusu smiles at him. It’s a disconcertingly nice sight.

Thankfully, the waitress dropping off their drinks distracts Goro from following that line of thought any further. The tea also smells disconcertingly nice; what’s worrying is that Kurusu somehow knew what he would enjoy.

“We could go to the movies after this if you’d like,” Kurusu suggests. “There’s a sci-fi marathon this week. What do you think?”

“I’m, well. I’m not certain if I’ll have time this evening—”

“Just one movie, then.”

Goro means to say no. His intention is to limit this to a short conversation over tea and then hurry back to his work. He doesn’t have _time_ to wander around town with Kurusu wasting the evening away.

“All right,” his mouth says without asking permission.

\--

The movie ends up being quite good. Gripping, actually. It’s been a while since Goro’s gone to the theater, much less taken a day off, and it seems he’s forgotten how enjoyable the atmosphere of the movies is. Kurusu even buys popcorn that ends up being communal when he deliberately places it on the armrest between them, popcorn that ends up being unfairly addictive.

It’s strange, how sitting in accepted silence next to someone for two hours is considered a bonding experience. Frustratingly—and inexplicably—Goro walks out feeling like he and Kurusu just shared something valuable.

“That was… quite impressive,” he says as they throw away their trash. “The acting was commendable, and the world-building was truly fantastic. I’m not usually one for robots, but something about the nuanced nature of—”

Goro stops, going red, when he realizes Kurusu might not want to sit and pull apart the movie like an autopsy like Goro tends to do after consuming any form of entertainment.

“Sorry,” he says. “I tend to ramble about things like these.“

“That’s all right. You can ramble.”

Goro goes for a light-hearted, disarming smile. “I believe I would bore you.”

Kurusu’s annoyingly earnest face tips a bit closer. “You couldn’t ever bore me.”

He sounds earnest too. Goro takes another look at his gentle smile and feels his autopiloted defense mechanism switch off.

“Well. All right.”

He launches into a character analysis that starts out apprehensive, but quickly transitions into shamelessly passionate. It’s easy for Goro to get lost in characters, worlds that aren’t his own, and if Kurusu judges, he keeps it well hidden.

It isn’t until they reach the train station that Goro realizes how long he’s been talking. Not just that, but there’s a worrying lack of light outside that also makes him realize just how long they’ve been hanging out.

“Look at the time,” Goro says after making a show of staring at his wristwatch. “I believe the evening’s gotten away from us a little bit. I should be going home.”

He half expects Kurusu to argue, try to dragoon him into capping off the night at a bathhouse or a cafe. He doesn’t, though, just tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles.

“I had fun,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

Again with the texting. What for, Goro wants to ask? What’s going on?

“All right,” Goro says instead.

\--

It’s two days later when Goro’s waiting in line at Yon-Germain when he recognizes the loud blond kid in line behind him as Kurusu’s obnoxious friend from the TV studio. He decides not to pay him any mind—that look in the guy’s eyes doesn’t seem particularly receptive to unwanted gazing in his direction anyway—but that plan goes out the window when someone starts aggressively tapping Goro on the shoulder.

He turns around. The perpetrator is none other than the blond spitfire.

“Hey,” the guy says. “Akechi, right?”

“Yes,” Goro says. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” He doesn’t elaborate on the how. Instead, he shifts topics entirely. “Hey, we’re all going to the batting cages tonight. Are you comin’?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The guy sighs, annoyed. He doesn’t seem to want to take part in this conversation at all; it feels, weirdly, like the most aggressively reluctant invitation to something Goro’s ever received.

“In Yongen, man. You comin’?”

The way he’s phrasing this is also peculiar, as if this invitation was already sent out ages ago and Goro just never bothered to RSVP. Goro’s detective sense harangues him, tingling. It feels like there’s a puzzle piece that’s supposed to be in front of him but has somehow ended up knocked out of sight.

“Uh, I’m afraid I already have plans tonight,” Goro says, starting to feel uneasy under the heat of those angrily slanted eyebrows. “But thank you for thinking of me.”

_Who are you?_ Goro thinks desperately, perplexed beyond belief.

“Yeah, all right, whatever. See you.”

He shoulders his way out of the line. Purchasing baked goods was obviously not his intention, which calls into question: did he come here with the intent of running into Goro? If so, _why_? Just to extend that bizarre invite?

Goro’s starting to get the unnerving feeling that there’s significant information he’s missing out on here.

\--

Unknown @ 7:49pm: hey bro

Goro @ 7:56pm: Wrong number.

Unknown @ 7:58pm: nah this is akechi rite?

Goro @ 7:59pm: Yes? Who are you?

Unknown @ 8:01pm: ryuji

Unknown @ 8:03: sakamoto

Unknown @ 8:08pm: ryuji sakamoto

Yes, Goro’s getting the picture, except he doesn’t know any Ryuji. Occasionally, a dedicated fan will track down his phone number and shoot him extremely sycophantic text messages, but they’re almost exclusively women.

Unknown @ 8:12pm: i got ur numb from akira

Unknown @ 8:13pm: akira kurusu

Oh. _Oh_. A few pieces fall into place. There’s a good chance this is that bleach-headed battle-ax Goro bumped into at the bakery a few mornings ago.

If he’s here to follow up on that raincheck of plans Goro threw out there, he should probably block his number now before things get out of hand.

Instead, he backs out of their conversation and opens up his thread with Kurusu, determined to get to the bottom of this. His fingers fly across the keyboard before he can bring rational logic into this.

Goro @ 8:15pm: Did you, by any chance, share my number with one of your friends?

Kurusu @ 8:17pm: oh yeah.

Kurusu @ 8:17pm: sorry, should I not have?

Goro feels a vein, popping to doubled size somewhere around his temple, throb. He stifles his first impulse, which is brutal honesty. No—the Detective Prince is endearing. Understanding. Good-hearted. He needs to keep those sugary sweet personality traits up and running.

Goro @ 8:18pm: It’s fine. It was just a bit of a surprise.

Before he can press a bit further and find out who else Kurusu is handing Goro’s number out en masse, Sakamoto chimes in again with yet another message.

Unknown @ 8:20pm: when r u gonna have time to hang out?

His confusion, like a yeast dough, only grows—doubles, triples in size. Why does Sakamoto want to hang out with him? Why did he even want Goro’s number?

Goro’s own ignorance of teenage life seems to smack him over the head, shame at his obliviousness trailing in its wake. Is this just how guys his age behave? How they make friends? Goro isn’t all that well-versed in these things, not that he’s ever minded. The juvenile lives and troubles of kids his age pale in comparison to what Goro experiences on a daily basis, leaving very little common ground.

Perhaps repeated rejection will nip this bizarreness in the bud. Goro intended on snooping into Akira Kurusu a bit, just in case, but has absolutely no interest in deliberately spending time with that bottle-blond moron.

Goro @ 8:24pm: I must admit that I’m not sure. My schedule has been packed as of late. My apologies.

Unknown @ 8:25pm: lame dude

Goro @ 8:26pm: My apologies.

That was more generous than Goro even needed to be, so hopefully that’s the end of that. He has a feeling, though, that it’s not.

\--

“Hey! Akechi-kun!”

Goro whips around. He had a hunch that choosing to go to the supermarket in the underground mall at the station would be a bad idea today, given that it’s teeming with his particular fan demographic even on quiet afternoons. Goro would be reveling in his brimming popularity a lot more if it didn’t mean his daily commute and grocery runs now need an extra hour factored in for autographs and selfies and beguiling smiles.

Down the aisle by the refrigerated fruit smoothies is a girl of Goro’s age in bright blonde pigtails. She looks familiar, but not in a way Goro can solidly place. Perhaps a fan he met at a taping? She hurries up to him, all smiles.

“I thought that was you!” she says. “Whatcha doing here?”

Goro looks around—surely the supermarket produce in his hand should answer that on its own. He clears his throat. “Just a bit of grocery shopping,” he says. Her behavior is odd. Most fans would’ve gushed over his last TV appearance by now, or asked for a chunk of his hair. “Excuse my bad memory, but have we met before?”

“Yeah, silly,” she says. “At the TV station a few weeks ago. Ann Takamaki. I’m from Shujin.”

_Of course_. She was one of Kurusu’s friends, alongside Ryuji Sakamoto. Kurusu’s gang of buddies is zeroing in on Goro like they have a warrant out for him. It’s starting to go from slightly peculiar into downright mystifying.

“Ah, yes. I recall. Did you enjoy the experience?”

She shrugs. “It was all right. A bit boring, though. I’m not sure how you stand it, doing so many interviews there, always about the same stuff.”

Goro doesn’t expect that. Most people are always too dazzled by the inner workings of a television program to pick up on just how monotonous it is. Leave it to some unimpressed teenagers to notice the humdrum of filming fluff pieces for second-rate news outlets.

He pulls together an amused chuckle. “You have a point there. But I must say, the Phantom Thieves have certainly made my job more interesting as of late.” He sees the opportunity he’s just laid in front of himself. “What’s your opinion on them?”

She gives him a cheeky grin. “You probably know more about them than me, Mr. Detective Prince,” she says. Then abruptly, she loops her arm through his, sidling to his side. “Come on. There’s better shops down here than the supermarket.”

The apple in Goro’s hand doesn’t back him up as she starts tugging him to the door. He can do little but hastily drop it off atop the bread rack to avoid any unintentional thievery, and next thing he knows, Ann’s led him toward a clothing store abusing neon lighting and blasting pop music from the speakers.

“I can never get the guys to go clothes shopping with me,” she complains. She starts sorting through racks, still maintaining her death grip on Goro’s elbow with her arm. She holds up a leather jacket by the hanger. “What do you think?”

“Uh.” Goro has no idea what he’s meant to say. All the social situations he’s ever been groomed for, this isn’t one of them. “It’s very… edgy?”

She sighs. It doesn’t seem to be the descriptor she’s looking for, stuffing the jacket back onto the rack. “I need someone to tell me what’s really _me_ now and again. I wear so many weird clothes when I’m modeling that I forget sometimes it’s not something I would ever actually own.” She turns to him, as if suddenly remembering they’re actually strangers. “Oh yeah. I model a lot, did you know that?”

How would he possibly know that?

“It sort of makes us similar, kinda,” she says. She finally unlinks their arms, putting her hands on her hips instead. “I mean, it’s not the same as being on TV, but I know what it’s like to be in the spotlight.”

“I… suppose you’re right,” Goro says. He’s fairly certain there’s a world of difference between being a TV personality and being a part-time model, but for the sake of being amiable, he doesn’t point that out. “Do you enjoy it?”

“I do, but it’s a lot sometimes, you know?” Ann says. “A lot of expectations come with it. And sometimes people forget you’re actually a real person and not just some kinda shiny object behind the camera.”

All right, perhaps they do share that particular experience. Goro’s lost track of how many times he’s received meaningless marriage proposals via fanmail or interviewers have gushed over his charming persona. It’s always been empty words, completely substanceless compliments. Not when Goro knows perfectly well they only appreciate the surface level version of him.

“Akechi-kun?” Ann says.

Goro snaps back to attention. “Ah. My apologies, Takamaki-san. My mind wandered a bit at your comment.”

She grimaces sympathetically. “You can relate, huh?” She bumps her elbow into his side. “And hey, call me Ann. No need to be so formal.”

Goro nods, unable to put a proper response into words. Five minutes ago, he was alternating between green and red apples, and now he’s in a store geared toward pre-teen girls staring at sequined t-shirts. Ann pulls another jacket out for consideration, holding it up to her shoulders.

Goro can’t help but think that he should be taking advantage of this situation, sneaking in questions that might help him parse the identity of the Phantom Thieves, but every time he does, Ann grabs another garment and asks for his opinion. Does he look like someone who knows what’s in vogue for the casual female youth? He chooses his own outfits with the intent of always appearing like someone who’s ready to meet a distinguished CEO; Ann chooses pieces that would fit right into a teenage beach party.

“I may not be the best companion for this endeavor,” he admits with an awkward laugh when she asks him which shorts he prefers. “I apologize.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” she says. “You definitely have better style than some people I know. Have you seen how Ryuji dresses? The guy’s permanently stuck at the mental age of eight.” She rolls her eyes, laying yet another pair of shorts over her arm to be tried on later. Goro wonders if he’ll get home before midnight at this rate. “But I get it. How about this, you pick the spot the next time we hang out. What kinda stuff are you into?”

She looks at him with expectant eyes, but Goro isn’t sure what to say. He’s always aware beforehand what he’ll be asked by interviewers, leaving him room to rehearse, but now, he’s put slightly on the spot. And with a question so banal—how completely _humiliating_. The longer he stays silent, wracking his brain, the more she probably comes to the conclusion that he has no hobbies save for knitting alone at home.

He does have hobbies, just not ones he can share with her.

“Anywhere you’d like to go would be fine,” he says, aiming for pleasantly agreeable. “I’m afraid work and school keep me too busy to spend time enjoying the city much.”

It’s the closest he lets himself get to the truth, because, to be honest, he knows it’s unlikely that he’d spend his time gallivanting around town even if he did have the free time to do so.

The look she gives him is almost critical, as if looking hard for a lie underneath that polite veneer, but then she shrugs and shoots another smile in his direction.

“Fair enough,” she says. “But I hope you know that hearing that only makes me want to bring you around all my favorite hang out spots even more. It’d be a shame for you not to take advantage of the huge city we get to live in!”

Goro curls his sneer into his mouth. He knows, he knows. Ann and her friends spend all their extra time running around Tokyo in karaoke bars and hip diners while Goro’s stuck underneath piles of police paperwork or staying up until midnight to get his homework done. As far as he’s concerned, she’s the one living the unfulfilling life, not him.

Not that it even _matters_. Goro doesn’t have to hang out with any of those weirdos. He’s a free man with a free will who just so happens to be watching a girl he barely knows sort through the tangled hangers slung over her arm on an afternoon he originally had completely different plans for.

“C’mon,” she says, pulling on his wrist. “I’m gonna need your opinion when I try this stuff on.”

She pulls him toward the changing booths. Through the door, fabric flying around the exposed skin of her ankles, Goro listens to her continue to talk about the mundane aspects of her life: a hard test she has coming up, a modeling gig she had last week that went horribly wrong, a glowing review for the monjayaki shop in Tsukishima. If it weren’t for his forays into Mementos and Palaces, Goro’s life would look dreadfully pale in comparison. He doesn’t have friends to go out to eat with, or people to meet up with after school, or people to complain to about his work. It’s true that all these losses might just be the necessary sacrifices for being not just the Detective Prince, but also for achieving his end goal, but hearing Ann talk about the complexities of her life, he can’t help but feel strangely wooden inside, embarrassed by the thinness of his.

He shakes himself out of it. He doesn’t want any of those things anyway. He has far more important things on his horizon.

“What do you think?” Ann asks, emerging from the booth in an entire ensemble. It’s a bit flashy for Goro’s tastes, but he imagines that admitting that might fall into the realm of rude.

“It’s…” He searches for a word. “...on-trend?”

“You think?” She takes a step back to examine her mirror self, smoothing wrinkles out of her shirt. “I gotta keep up with the latest fashions anyway, or my coworkers will think I’m falling behind. Nothing says has-been model like walking around in last year’s fad.”

She’s rolling her eyes as she talks, but Goro still gets the impression she’s being serious. He doesn’t know anything about the world of modeling, not beyond one minor photoshoot for a magazine spread he did a few months ago, but her story does remind Goro of how he’s always being fussed over with clothes and make-up and hair products for tapings. Wear this, Akechi-kun. You’re needed in the make-up chair, Akechi-kun. Let’s shine those shoes, Akechi-kun.

“Does it?” he asks, opting for a polite chuckle. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I bet you know more than you think,” Ann says. She tilts her head at him.

She holds this unerring gaze long enough that Goro starts suspecting she isn’t talking about fashion anymore, assuming she ever did. A collection of ants runs up Goro’s spine in a fit of nerves.

And then, abruptly, she’s back to her chipper self, the mood whiplash so strong that Goro’s nearly convinced he just imagined that strange behavior. She declares she’ll try on a few more outfits and tugs the curtain shut again, leaving Goro to daydream about making an escape while she’s not paying attention.

She emerges from the dressing room before he can get started on his getaway route. A good heap of clothes is draped over her arm to be bought, purchases she’s justifying as “needing to update her summer wardrobe.” Goro just nods along and gives her the occasional compliment to try and speed things along, which at the very least, does move her toward the cash register rather than back to the aisles.

“Okay!” she says, bags swinging from her elbows. “Where d’you wanna get lunch from?”

Goro blanches. “Haha—lunch?”

“Yeah! Shopping’s made me super hungry.” She loops her arm back into Goro’s. “What about the crepe place on Central Street? Do you like sweet stuff?”

Goro does, in fact, like sweet stuff, but admitting that now feels like it would be folly. He really ought to be finding a way to shut this down as soon as possible, and encouraging ideas of crepes—no matter how appetizing they sound—would only drag this afternoon on.

He has so much work waiting for him at home. School assignments he’s late on. Investigative leads Sae requested his input on. TV appearances that need confirming. Research to be done on Okumura’s list of requested mental shutdowns. He doesn’t have time to prance around Shibuya with a stranger, even if that stranger is being confusingly friendly to him.

She squeezes his arm. “I’m gonna guessss… you’re a chocolate kinda guy,” she says. There’s something about her that’s weirdly charming. “Am I right?”

Goro thinks ahead to the sort of chocolate delights the crepe shop might have to offer. Maybe something with strawberries too.

“I suppose one crepe couldn’t hurt.”

\--

Later that night, lying in bed after being wheedled into two—two!—crepes, Goro wonders what the hell happened today.

\--

The Madarame case has started to grate Goro’s mind. Not only is everyone at the station talking about it, like infernal gossiping bees, but it’s taken a toll on Shido’s mood as well.

Not that the man spit out rainbows on a good day.

Annoyingly—but not unpredictably—Madarame himself had no light to shed on the situation. Shido made sure Goro would have a chance to interview him himself, but even a private audience with the man yielded no solid answers. Madarame seemed as baffled as everyone else as to what had happened. According to him—at least, what Goro could make out through the haze of his weeping—the change was entirely internal, and there was no one to point a finger to but himself.

It’s frustrating, hitting that kind of wall. Goro mulls over his growing list of obstacles as the train rocks about, swaying all its passengers left and right. It’s warm today, almost too warm to be stuffed in a train car underground. He’ll get off at the next big stop and grab something to eat until he’s cooled down a bit. The station will be hot too, but maybe deep enough underground to have retained a preserved cool. The bakery—perhaps he’ll indulge in something sweet, a pastry, maybe, even if that’s nowhere near a proper dinner.

He’s still mentally going over the bakery menu when a hand lands on his shoulder. Goro twists, finding none other than—

Is that Yusuke Kitagawa? Madarame’s last documented protege? Goro isn’t sure if he should concentrate on the immense serendipity that comes with running into the one boy who might be able to help his investigation along, or on the suspiciousness of that very coincidence. 

“Ah, Akechi-san. I thought that was you,” Kitagawa says, smiling. “What a pleasure it is to run into you.”

Goro feels the skepticism try to pinch his face. There’s a chance Kitagawa’s just eager to figure out what happened to his misguided mentor, and knows Goro’s involved in the case. It’s perfectly plausible, but at the same time, with the way lots of people have been treating Goro like their lovable childhood penpal, he has another suspicion as to the origin of Kitagawa’s friendliness.

“Yusuke Kitagawa,” Goro says smoothly. “What a surprise.”

Or not. Goro’s guard is up. Even if it is up against a man who has paint smeared on his chin.

“How are you, Akechi-san?” Kitagawa asks. “I heard you were investigating Madarame’s change of heart.”

Straight to the point. “Yes, I am. Don’t worry. If his confession was by manipulation of the Phantom Thieves, I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Kitagawa has the gall to chuckle. “Oh, I’m not worried.”

Goro’s sleuth sensors start flaring. He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not?”

“How could I be when a detective of your standards is investigating?” Kitagawa stops to take in a bracing breath. “Besides. Regardless of the means that brought about the confession, I know none of it was a lie. What Madarame does at this point is no longer my concern.”

Goro is still a little hung up on the first part, even as he tells himself to not be flattered. Kitagawa is—well, Goro doesn’t know what Kitagawa is playing at, but he’s not letting himself be drawn in.

“Ah. I apologize if I treaded on a sore spot,” Goro says. “And thank you for the compliment. I will certainly try my best.”

That could’ve been the end of that conversation, but something tugs at Goro’s proverbial sleeve. How did Kitagawa even find out that Goro was looking into Madarame’s overnight growth of a moral compass? Something about the guy doesn’t strike Goro as his usual TV appearance audience.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you find out I was looking into the Phantom Thieves?” Goro asks.

“Akira told me you mentioned it at the TV station,” Kitagawa says.

Of fucking course. What ever happened to six degrees of separation? From Goro’s perspective, everybody is somehow connected to Akira Kurusu. At least, everyone who has inexplicably come into contact with Goro the last few weeks. Japan isn’t that damn small.

“Akira Kurusu,” Goro says slowly, waiting for Kitagawa’s nod of confirmation. “You’re… acquaintances?”

Kitagawa breezes over Goro’s question, eyes looking at something far-off over Goro’s shoulder. Artist’s attention span, Goro supposes. “Ryuji and Akira told me that you spoke about Madarame during their school trip to the television station,” he explains. “And your displeasure with the Phantom Thieves.”

There’s just too much to unpack in all that. Kitagawa is friends with Sakamoto too? What on earth do those two even talk about? They told Kitagawa that Goro has beef with the Phantom Thieves? Why does Kitagawa care, unless he’s personally involved? How did he even meet Sakamoto and Kurusu anyway when they go to different schools? Goro highly doubts they crossed paths at Saturday morning pottery class.

The train rocks back and forth as Goro tries to figure out Kitagawa’s angle here. Is his intent to implicate himself in the hope that Goro will be fooled by his hiding-in-plain-sight approach? Or is he truly dim enough to believe that nothing about his fishy allegiances, shortly after the change of heart of his abusive teacher, will cause a seasoned detective to point a finger at him? _Or_ does he have such little belief in Goro’s deduction abilities that he found no visible threat in sharing that damning information with him?

Goro really needs to slow down his brain before it overheats. He inhales, turning to Kitagawa and finding that he’s since made a lens of his fingers to move about the train.

_Artists_. Good lord.

“How did you come to befriend them, anyway?” Goro asks.

Kitagawa drops his hands. The look he gives Goro is long and unwavering, so long that Goro is nearly convinced he’s about to tell him the truth, but then his eyes take on a distance, like someone whose gaze is stretched over a field of memory.

“I wanted to paint Ann naked,” he says in a tone that’s frighteningly conversational. “After she confronted me about following her, I invited her and her friends to an art exhibition.”

“Kurusu and Sakamoto?”

“Yes,” Yusuke says. He looks curiously at Goro.

“Something the matter?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I was just surprised by your... formality. I was under the impression—never mind.” That far-off look returns to his eyes. Goro nearly thinks he’s in for more poetic waxing about Ann, but then Yusuke says, gently, “Forgive me if I’m misinterpreting the situation, but I believe I understand. I wasn’t wealthy in friendship once either.”

Goro feels his gut being squeezed into his intestines, as if by some unseen monster’s hand. He doesn’t want to admit to something so humiliating, but somehow, the process of denial feels as if it would be just as embarrassing.

“Perhaps you already know my story,” Yusuke says, continuing through Goro’s silence. “My mentor since I was a child had been using me for my art, all but abusing me, for years. The worst part was that I was imprisoning myself. Chaining myself to an unhappy fate.”

Goro does know the story. Aside from how oversaturated it’s been in the news as of late, Goro’s been looking into every side of the case on Shido’s orders as well. Everyone’s been recycling the same stories—shock, disillusion, and sheer awe at who Madarame turned out to truly be. The fact that Yusuke can admit to the truth of the situation after so many years of turning a blind eye is a surprise in of itself.

“He was like my father,” Yusuke confesses. “Coming to terms with the fact that he never saw me in the same familial light has been… difficult.”

He sighs. The brunt of it reaches Goro in spirit. He knows father issues all too well, not that he particularly wants to unpack any of them right now.

“As you may have been able to guess, I didn’t have many friends during that period of my life. There were the other artists at the atelier, but they came and went often too quickly to bond with,” Yusuke continues. “The friendships I’ve made since are almost surreal. Their loyalty, their support, the fact that they exist at all.”

Goro could just about strangle him. To point out how woefully friendless Goro is, only to then flaunt his own magically improved life and his hoards of buddies, is a low blow from someone Goro falsely assumed to have a bit of class. 

“Ah, well.” Goro tries to think of something polite to say, willing the train to reach its stop already. “I’m glad things have turned around for you, Kitagawa.”

“Yusuke,” Kitagawa says. “Please, call me Yusuke.”

Goro just wants to find the emergency exit to this conversation. “If you insist.”

“Would you like to go the museum in Ueno with me tomorrow?” Yusuke says suddenly. It’s such a random non sequitur that Goro takes a moment to make sure he heard that correctly. “I believe you’d very much enjoy the exhibit displayed at the moment, and I’d enjoy the company.”

What? What about Goro could possibly be implying that he’d enjoy to spend an entire afternoon staring at art? Is it his sweater vest?

Or does he think Goro’s so desperate for friends that he’s extending this invitation as a pity party at the museum? Just imagining that to be true is boiling Goro over like an angry pot of water.

“Please,” Yusuke says before Goro can so much as think of an excuse not to go.

Goro’s mind whirs with a million ways to say no. What comes out, however, is, “All right.”

\--

The next day, Goro actually finds himself on the train to Ueno. It’s packed and overly hot with the June weather mingling with the crammed crowd of passengers, and by the time he arrives, Goro’s more annoyed—and sweaty, unfortunately—than he is excited.

Not that he was excited before. The only reason he even decided to see this invitation through was the possibility of squeezing more information out of Yusuke about the Madarame case. Yusuke was giving up nuggets of information like candy yesterday, namely his nebulously explained tie to Kurusu and Sakamoto.

_Wanted to paint Ann naked_. Goro hides his snort in his sleeve as he gets off the train.

The weekend has seen fit to pack the museum with art aficionados and bored novices alike. Yusuke, however, stands out, what with his beanstalk height and neat purple shirt.

“Goro! Over here!”

Oh, it’s Goro now, is it? Goro doesn’t even know how to properly respond to this sudden layer of distance between them Yusuke has taken the liberty to strip away. He approaches him.

“Ah, there you are,” Goro says. “It’s busier here than I expected.”

Yusuke looks out over the heads of the crowd. “Yes. I believe the scandal with Madarame is to thank for the museum’s sudden boost in popularity.”

“Thank?”

“Yes, indeed. The situation itself was unfortunate, but in the end, isn’t getting the public involved and interested in art far more important?”

There’s a slightly glazed look in Yusuke’s eyes. The look only gets stronger as they start squeezing their way through the exhibitions. There’s a real reverence there, one that’s highlighted by Yusuke narrating the abridged autobiographies of each painter they find with all the thorough knowledge of a tour guide. It’s a reverence that’s also slightly trance-like, enough so that any hopes Goro had of discreetly interrogating him about the Phantom Thieves go out the window.

He would nearly believe that Yusuke hardly noticed—or needed—Goro’s presence at all, up until they stop at the gift shop and Yusuke turns to him and says, “I’m grateful you came with me today. Did you enjoy the art?”

“Why, yes,” Goro says. Surprisingly enough, he’s not lying. It was nice, taking a respite from work to get lost in the worlds behind canvases, especially with Yusuke’s running monologue to keep them both company. “I appreciated your extensive knowledge on the subject, as well.”

“We all have our areas of expertise,” Yusuke says. He grabs his chin, considering. “What would you say is yours?”

Well, he’s quite good with his saber. And he prides himself on his intelligence, and quick thinking, and strategic scheming.

“My detective work, I would hope,” Goro says with a light chuckle. People in TV audiences always like when he gets a bit cheeky. It seems to fly over Yusuke’s head, though. “I’ve always been proud of my ability to make deductions, to come to conclusions.”

“You certainly make an impression on TV,” Yusuke notes, but before Goro can press him on that or laughingly brush aside his comment with rehearsed modesty, he’s hefting a statue off the shelf. “Look at this piece. It’s a stunning replica, isn’t it?”

Goro supposes it is, assuming that imitation is a skill that deserves praise. “That statue was on the second floor, wasn’t it? In the Roman wing?”

“It shall be your souvenir of the day,” Yusuke declares, and then proceeds to head for the cash register before Goro can decline the gift of a bulky statue he has no need for. “A thank you for coming to the museum with me.”

A miserable little realization cracks open Goro’s heart: no one’s ever given Goro a gift before, aside from the strange handmade tokens of appreciation sometimes thrown at him from the crowds of his TV gigs. Certainly never a souvenir to remember a day spent with someone.

“That’s… very considerate of you,” Goro says, surprisingly sincere, and Yusuke smiles.

The statue winds up being a pain to lug around on the train. It’s heavier than it was when Goro first hefted it into his arms, and will probably only continue to get unbearably heavier until his arms go numb. To make matters worse, it doesn’t fit into Goro’s apartment in the least; it’s a glaringly incongruous decoration when compared to his otherwise minimalist furniture. Set up next to his bookcase, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

For a reason he can’t quite explain, Goro likes it.

\--

Goro wakes up in a funk that Sunday. He hasn’t been sleeping well—ribbed nightmares, courtesy of Mementos—and he can never seem to make it to the pharmacy in time before closing to pick up a refill for his sleeping pills. He rubs his eyes, exhaustion prickling them.

On the bedside table, his phone buzzes.

Kurusu @ 8:55am: hey! do you want to come over this afternoon to study a bit?

Goro waits for the last of the fuzz from his dream to clear to make sure this isn’t just a figment of imagination. He blinks a few times, but the message stays in place.

Study. Right—exams are coming up. Goro’s been so knee-deep in media appearances that he had nearly forgotten. Not that his teachers wouldn’t understand if he asked to take them later due to his work with the police taking priority these days. Some of his teachers seem as starstruck as Goro’s adolescent fans.

The study group might be worth his while regardless. Ever since Kaneshiro went rogue and stopped funneling money into Shido’s organization, Shido’s been demanding Goro double down on his investigation of the Phantom Thieves, and Kurusu might provide valuable intel for the cause, given Goro plays his cards correctly. The few times he’s hung out with Yusuke here and there haven’t turned up any useful information on the Thieves, probably because Yusuke tends to be very easily distracted by potential subjects for his art.

Goro @ 9:00am: I’d love to. Shall we go to a library?

Kurusu @ 9:01am: actually do you know leblanc in yongen jaya? it’s a cafe

Goro @ 9:02am: I haven’t been there before. But I have no problems meeting there.

Kurusu @ 9:03am: great! 

Yongen is a fairly reclusive area of town. The streets are quiet, nothing but the occasional bit of gossip or ringing of a bicycle bell, but Leblanc is easy to find. Perhaps Kurusu picked it because of its guaranteed silence. Even the local libraries can be fairly packed in the summer, and Leblanc looks secluded enough that Goro doubts there’s more than one elderly couple in a corner booth inside.

He opens the door. The sound of the bell jangling overhead is completely drowned out in the noise of the coffeeshop.

It’s not just Kurusu here; an entire gang of Shujin students—and is that Yusuke Kitagawa?—have monopolized a table and turned it into a tsunami of notes and textbooks. Ann is here as well, and that idiot Ryuji Sakamoto, and—even Makoto Niijima?

“Hey,” says someone behind the bar.

Goro whips to his right. There’s a man behind the bar wiping glasses clean. He smiles at Goro, tilting his head toward the briefcase in his hand.

“You here for the study group?” he asks. The doubtful way he says _study group_ makes it clear he doesn’t think any of that ruckus is productive.

“Uh, yes,” Goro says. “Is this your establishment?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah. Well, it’s very kind of you to let it be overrun by studying teenagers.”

The man’s smile twitches. “Comes with the territory,” he says. “What with Akira living upstairs.”

“Oh.” Goro glances over at the dark staircase, apparently leading to someone’s bedroom. Kurusu’s bedroom. How did that happen?

An arm roughly tumbles over Goro’s shoulders, nearly knocking him off his balance. One whiff of body odor and energy drink is all it takes for Goro to identify it as Sakamoto long before he gets a glimpse of spiky blond hair.

“Finally,” he says. “We’re halfway through math shit by now. You good at math, Mr. Detective?”

Sakamoto doesn’t let him answer, instead shoving him into the booth. It’s possible Sakamoto thinks friendship is defined by fisticuffs and wrestling. He certainly looks unevolved enough to want to punch his way out of every problem.

Without being able to so much as throw out an appointment Goro desperately needs to go to in approximately fifteen minutes, he’s being sandwiched between Kurusu and Sakamoto in the booth, trapped in the madness. Across the table, Makoto is staring at him. Goro would’ve assumed her to be a bit sour with him after his “good-girl pushover” comment from the last time he saw her, but she smiles at him instead, not a trace of animosity to be found.

Something about the sight is unsettling.

“Nice of you to join us, Akechi-kun,” Makoto says, voice perfectly pleasant. “We were just in the middle of trigonometry.”

It looks like they’re actually in the middle of the art of paper football. And then there’s Yusuke, who seems to be doodling. Every single one of these morons is going to fail their exams, and Goro doesn’t care.

“Thanks for coming,” Kurusu whispers to him. He looks genuinely pleased that Goro’s here, which is doing weird gymnastics to Goro’s stomach.

“Ah, thank you for the invitation,” Goro says. “I wasn’t expecting such a large get-together.”

Briefly, Kurusu’s knee bumps into Goro’s under the table. “Next time, it can just be the two of us.”

There go the cartwheels again. Goro looks steadfastly away; today was supposed to be about winding an interrogation in between language reviews and history lessons. If anything, the large group could be an advantage. As a collective, the five of them are horribly suspicious. Madarame’s burned ex-pupil, Kamoshida’s victims, and Sae’s younger sister all hanging out is definitely more than just a happy coincidence. And a loud mouth like Sakamoto is bound to have a slip-up soon.

“So,” he says, aiming for nonchalant. “What a happy group you have here.”

“Yeah. Happy as clams,” Sakamoto says. “You bring your books or what?”

“Gee, Ryuji, he’s just making conversation,” Ann says. “The guy probably took time out of his busy schedule to hang out with us.”

“Right.” Sakamoto turns to him. “You solvin’ any big cases right now?”

It’s an opening Goro is happy to take. “Well, I’m sure you know the Phantom Thieves are on the police’s mind. Everyone wants to know who they are.”

Ann leans forward on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “And who do you think they are, Goro?”

The first name being casually winged about like that throws Goro. The entire table is listening in carefully—even the man behind the bar is paying attention, the wiping of dishes having slowed considerably.

“I don’t have anyone in my sights just yet,” he says. “I admit, the case is a baffling one.”

“You still think they’re degenerate criminals?” Sakamoto asks. Something in his eyes is a challenge. It’s possible he’s not used to people disagreeing with him. “I mean, they took down a freakin’ mafia boss. Sounds pretty heroic to me.”

“Well, it’s less about who they target, but rather what methods they’re using,” Goro says. “Would you want someone to change your heart without your consent?”

“Perhaps it’s less about want,” Makoto adds in, “but rather about what someone deserves?”

“And that isn’t jail time?” Goro asks.

Sakamoto snorts. “Yeah. ‘Cause all those bastards were being investigated by police.” He rolls his eyes. “I know they’re your colleagues or whatever, but the police is an effing joke.“

Goro draws his pleasant facade forward like how one reaching for a safety helmet might. “It saddens me to hear that. I truly hope you have more faith in our country’s law enforcement.”

“Just ignore him,” Ann says. “Ryuji just has a… _screw the police_ mentality.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Sakamoto shrugs, moody. Possibly got caught breaking too many laws; that certainly creates a distaste for police.

“They don’t care about the people, man. Just their own asses.” He jerks his thumb toward Kurusu. “I mean, just listen to what happened to this guy.”

“Maybe later,” Kurusu says quickly, opening up a new textbook. “It’s not as interesting as Ryuji makes it sound.”

Remarkably enough, Kurusu manages to steer the group back toward studying, although Sakamoto certainly gives a mighty effort toward promoting procrastination. They all seem like perfectly normal teenagers, irritatingly enough. No one drops any hints that might expose a crack in their charade as the Phantom Thieves. Goro can hardly believe it; the very existence of this motley friendship is supremely suspicious, but still, he can’t nail down a solid piece of evidence that anything strange is going on between them all.

It’s frustrating. Also frustrating, is just how good the coffee that the man behind the bar—Boss, as everyone keeps calling him—sets down in front of Goro is.

“Enjoyed it?” Kurusu asks him, quiet enough to stay out of Boss’ ears, after Goro’s finished his first cup.

“It was exceptional, yes.”

Kurusu grins. “Mine’s better.”

“Is that so? I didn’t realize coffee-making was in your arsenal of talents.”

Kurusu’s grin widens. What is even going on here? Is Kurusu just messing with him? Is he really just some bumbling barista teenager who isn’t at all involved with the Phantom Thieves? Why does he live in some dinky cafe’s attic? What was his incident with the police Sakamoto alluded to? Why is he making such questionable choices in whom he befriends?

He can’t riddle any of it out. He can’t figure out why they invited him here either, and why they all keep being so chummy with him. At first, Goro suspected a certain sycophancy, a draw into the orbit of a minor star’s life, a mooch off of his fame, but none of them seem to be the least bit starstruck by Goro’s presence, which makes their motive even harder to pin down.

It’s well into the afternoon when the study group disbands. Yusuke’s the first to go, citing a sale on art supplies he needs to take advantage of before he runs out of money, and Ryuji’s the second, bolting up from the table, cursing, when he realizes the time and that he still needs to pick up groceries for his mother. Makoto and Ann leave soon after, leaving Goro alone with Kurusu before he realizes it. Their seating arrangement, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, feels a lot more intimate once no one else is sharing the table with them.

Now would be the right time to leave, surely. The others have left, signaling the end of this being a “study group” since there is no longer a “group,” to say nothing of the fact that Goro’s been more of a helpful mentor the past few hours than he has learned anything due to being ahead a year in education. Even Kurusu’s guardian has left, having taken one sweeping look at the empty premises half an hour ago and letting everyone know he was heading out to buy cigarettes during the lull in customers.

The only sound still left in the cafe is the occasional scratch of Kurusu’s pen as he makes notes. For a delinquent with a record, he sure seems fastidious about his studies. Not that this would be the first time Goro’s ever had to remind himself not to let first impressions guide his deductions. It’s just a bit concerning, truthfully, that this potential leader of the Phantom Thieves might be more than just a brainless, hero wannabe teenager with too much braggadocio.

Goro twists his pen around in his grip. “You seem very dedicated to your studies, Kurusu-kun. I wouldn’t have expected this of you.”

“Grades are important to me,” Kurusu divulges—yet another surprise. It’s unnerving when Goro misreads someone so badly. “I have to show that I’m taking school seriously.”

“To mend your reputation?”

“That’s part of it, yeah.” Kurusu puts his pen down, sighing. Would being less of a slacker make Goro’s theory about him being part of the Phantom Thieves less or more feasible? “Come on,” Kurusu says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’ll brew you a coffee.”

He slides behind the counter and starts working the machinery with practiced ease. Goro leans against a barstool and watches Kurusu’s nimble fingers prepare a cup, drawn to the dexterous way they handle the coffee grinds. He would really love to ask why he’s been invited here at all today, but feels like the question might paint him in an unfavorable—if not naive—light, like someone who doesn’t understand the concept of friendly human interaction, or friendship.

Is this a friendship? Asking that would be even worse than naive; it would be undoubtedly juvenile. Goro might as well go pull petals off of flowers if he wants questions like that answered.

“Thank you for introducing me to this coffeeshop,” he says instead, all faux brightness. “It’s quite the hidden gem.”

“Boss’ll be happy to hear you say that.”

Aside from the brewing’s bubbling, the cafe goes quiet, thick with some unseen tension between Goro and Kurusu, although it’s possible Goro’s the only one feeling it. It might be the oppressive silence combined with the annoying feeling that Goro doesn’t know what he’s doing here, or how to get himself back into the loop he’s currently far outside of as far as solving that particular mystery goes.

He looks around the cafe as Kurusu searches for a saucer. Now that he’s not occupied with textbooks and Sakamoto hurling crime questions at him like a tennis ball machine, he has a bit more time to examine the place. It’s definitely a bit dated, but the appeal of the establishment is there regardless, even if the woefully empty seats speak against anyone knowing about such appeal. 

Perhaps that’s why Kurusu’s lodging here. It’s a quiet enough place for a teenager who needs to live out of the bustle of the city and learn about the value of dishwashing. How all that came together into boarding above a has-been cafe is still an enigma, though.

Goro decides to just go ahead and ask. “Did I hear correctly that you live upstairs?”

Kurusu glances at the stairs. “I do,” he says. “If you’re wondering as to why, this is part of that long story I mentioned earlier.”

“I’d be very interested to hear it.”

For a moment, Kurusu is silent. The moment stretches out long enough that Goro can’t help but think that he’d rather avoid the subject, but then he looks up from his coffee work and gives Goro a rather impish smile.

“I’m not sure it’s a story I should be telling people involved with the police.”

Goro’s pulse stutters into overdrive. Is this the moment Kurusu relents, spun into Goro’s sugared charm, and admits to all his dealings with the Phantom Thieves?

Kurusu pours the hot coffee into a cup. He slides it in front of Goro, the steam trailing after it, and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll tell you about it, if you tell me something about you as well.”

What are you playing at, Goro wants to ask. He wants to narrow his eyes and try to see through Kurusu’s skull, straight past his glinting lenses and irritatingly nice smile.

“Seems fair,” he says. “Seeing as it’s your proposal, I suggest you go first.”

“All right.” Kurusu straightens up, putting his palms flat on the countertop. “I was sent out here to Yongen-Jaya after I was charged with assault a few months back. I’m on a year’s long probation.”

Well, that’s not what Goro was expecting. He looks at Kurusu with new eyes, eyes that now know new bits of information. Kurusu doesn’t look like the type who goes around getting into fights—that seems much more like Sakamoto’s area of expertise—but then again, teenage boys can be like that. Full of bottled rage. Brimming with volcanic explosives just waiting for the moment of detonation.

Goro knows all about rage himself. But he has an outlet, a healthy way of dealing with things that just so happens to involve intense revenge schemes and battling supernatural creatures in an otherworldly realm.

“That… seems like quite the ordeal,” Goro says. “Forgive me for asking, but what exactly happened?”

“I tried to stop a drunk guy from forcing himself on a woman,” Kurusu says.

_Oh_.

Goro’s stunned into silence for a moment. Kurusu glances over at the wall, as if he’s unwilling to let Goro look him in the eye. “I’ve heard a lot since then that I shouldn’t have gotten involved.” He turns back to Goro. “What do you think?”

“I…” Goro finds the coffee cup with his fingers, letting them wrap around the hot porcelain. “I think you acted on your justice, which is more than what lots of people could say. I believe many others would have taken the coward’s way out.”

“Maybe,” Kurusu says.

He doesn’t offer up another comment, and Goro is at a bit of a loss as well. He expected a totally different story, to be honest, something needlessly violent and laughable, not something as grim as getting caught in the crossfire of a sexual assault in an effort to stop a crime. It’s worrisome that Kurusu’s moral compass is apparently quite functional; it shoots a wrench through all of Goro’s theories about him being wrapped up in the Phantom Thieves.

Then again, a boy unfairly slighted by the country’s legal system may just be burned enough to create his own legal system as an act of vengeance. Still—

“Your turn,” Kurusu says.

“Right.” Goro tries to think of something on par with Kurusu’s secret that would paint Goro in a favorable light. “How about this? I grew up in the foster system and was passed around from family to family quite a bit. It was a… rough childhood.”

Perhaps that was a bit too on the nose. He should’ve shared something less intense, less _real_ , but it’s too late now, blurted out of his mouth like vomit.

“I didn’t know,” Kurusu says. Something about him—the soft smile? The unassuming posture? The commanding heat in his gray eyes?—makes him easy to talk to. “Who do you live with now?”

“By myself,” Goro says. The look Kurusu gives him—is that pity? Goro feels himself bristling like a prodded skunk. At least he’s not living in some run-down cafe. At least he’s not shacked up in a cobwebbed attic. At least—

“Nice,” Kurusu says. “Do you like it?”

Goro takes in a breath. “Living alone? I suppose so.” No one to yell at him for not making his bed, or for opening too many kitchen cabinets, or for not finishing his chores. It’s easy, and simple, and unrestrained, and… quiet. “What about you? How do you like living here?”

Kurusu shrugs. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” He pauses. “Try it.”

“Hm?”

“The coffee.” Kurusu nudges the side of Goro’s cup. “While it’s still hot.”

“Oh. Of course.

Goro takes a sip. It’s rich, almost earthy in its depth, with a pleasantly mellow aftertaste. Goro goes back in for a bit more.

“It’s delicious,” he says. It’s almost annoying that it’s true. How is it that Kurusu has all these talents, all these friends, all these opportunities? Goro pulls back his own bitterness with another gulp. “I’ll have to come back more often for this coffee.”

“You should,” Kurusu says. “It’s nice to have you here.”

The words shoot through Goro like lightning. How can he just—just wing about sentiments like that, so carelessly, so blasé about where they land in Goro’s heart? He feels the urge to ask if they’re friends claw at him. Are they? Is this friendship? If so, when did that even happen?

“Thank you, Kurusu-kun,” Goro says in a voice that’s more level than he feels. “I appreciate your kindness.”

“Akira.”

“Pardon?”

“You can call me Akira,” he says.

“Oh.” Something burns in Goro’s stomach, up his chest like a sparkler. “May I extend you the same offer, then?”

Kurusu—no, Akira, all of a sudden—nods. It’s a moment that feels weirdly intimate, almost like something that ought not to be interrupted. Goro breaks their eye contact to busy himself with another sip. The coffee really is quite good.

Damn it.

“You want to try the curry too?”

“Pardon?”

Akira gestures toward the blackboard menu behind himself with his head. “Sojiro’s great at curry.”

“Oh. I don’t want to trouble—”

“It’s no trouble.”

Those horrendously earnest eyes seem to mean it. Goro grapples with his pre-programmed courtesy responses.

“If you’re sure, then yes, I’d love to try some.”

His answer seems to please Akira, which means he’s either poisoned the curry or genuinely cares about Goro getting proper sustenance. He’s not sure which is scarier.

Akira serves him a bowl and then keeps up the conversation as Goro samples it. The way he rests his elbows on the countertop, sleeves rolled up, is inexplicably distracting. Goro tries to focus on the curry, which is quite good, and the topic at hand, which is living situations. Akira explains how he came to be in Sojiro’s care, and how life above a cafe has been treating him. 

The conversation is all so innocent and enjoyable and Goro nearly scolds himself for wondering if there was some ulterior motive behind the invitation to come by. 

\--

Unknown @ 1:11pm: hey you wanna go to the gym together after school today

Goro @ 1:14pm: Who is this?

Unknown @ 1:15pm: ryuji

Unknown @ 1:15pm: man you still don’t have my number saved?? wtf

Goro @ 1:17pm: My apologies. It’s a busy time for me right now.

~~Unknown~~ Ryuji @ 1:19pm: whatever

Ryuji @ 1:19pm: you wanna go or what?

Ryuji @ 1:20pm: 4pm. be there or be square

What? _What?_ Why would Goro want to go to the gym with Sakamoto? Better yet, why would Sakamoto want to go to the gym with Goro?

The curiosity alone is nagging at Goro like a rodent chewing at his pant leg.

Goro @ 1:22pm: Fine.

Goro has stopped asking himself why any of this has happened. Acceptance has hit, even if it is a very confused acceptance, leaving in its wake the wariness one might have when wandering through an oddly vivid dream. Waking up still feels imminent.

The gym is easy enough to find, right in the middle of Shibuya. The first thing that Goro notices is that obnoxious techno music is pumping through the gym’s speakers the moment he steps inside. Also noticeable, is how everyone but him seems to be in athletically-geared clothes, from tracksuits to leggings to uncomfortably tight t-shirts. In his freshly ironed button-down, Goro might be slightly out of place.

Over by the weights are Sakamoto and—Akira’s here too. They’re standing close, talking quietly, almost furtively, but the gym is too loud for Goro to make out specifics in their conversation—the only thing that stands out is that Sakamoto looks annoyed, although that truly might just be Sakamoto’s default expression.

Sakamoto catches Goro’s eye over Akira’s shoulder. His demeanor changes instantly. “Hey!” he shouts, throwing his hand in the air in a wave. “You made it. But, man, what’s with your clothes? You going to some kinda business meeting after this?”

Goro looks down at his loosened tie and dress slacks. Sakamoto and Akira are both in red tracksuits. The red is distressingly striking on Akira.

“I’m afraid I came directly from work,” he explains.

“Well, you can’t wear that shit.”

“That’s okay. I have some extra sweats from school you can borrow,” Akira suggests.

No! Goro wants to vehemently shout. No, he will not walk around in Akira’s sweaty gym clothes. He just refuses. It’s already undignifying enough to be in gym clothes, period, without them being someone else’s.

He feels his mouth twitch when a good excuse to decline the offer doesn’t come to Goro’s mind. What he says, however, is, “What a generous offer. Thank you.”

They head for the locker room while Sakamoto pretends to warm up. Akira assures him that they’re clean clothes—unused, really, just extras he carries with him because Yusuke tends to forget whenever he comes exercise with them. Goro chooses to believe that story for his own well-being.

That being said, Goro looks absurd in them. No better than a Shujin ruffian. Most annoying of all is how frustratingly soft they are.

“You look good in red,” Akira tells him when he emerges, attempting to fit his folded clothes into his briefcase.

_What?_

“Do I?” Goro says, laughing to cover up the fact that he’s physically sweating. “Thank you.”

He hastens for the exit. The locker room is a bit too stuffy for his taste, especially in these unbreathable clothes. Weren’t sweats supposed to be comfortable?

Back in the techno-saturated gym, Sakamoto is already fiddling around—or rather, playing—with a large blue exercise ball. He and Akira seem to know their way around the equipment well enough. Goro would deduce that they’ve come here before, possibly often, after school or on weekends. It makes them seem, disconcertingly, like normal students, rather than undercover Phantom Thieves, just regular boys with nothing better to do than lift weights after class.

“So,” Goro says as they all get settled on machines. “Do you come here often after school?”

Sakamoto shrugs. “Yeah, sorta. I just found this place recently.” He heaves a sigh, not looking Goro in the eye, instead chewing on the inside of his cheek. “It took me a while to want to work out like this again.”

“Oh? How come?”

“I had, uh. A bit of an accident, I guess. Couldn’t run for a while.”

“I see. But you’ve since healed, I suppose?”

Sakamoto sighs again. His grip on his kettlebell has gone white. “Yeah. Water under the burned bridge, and all that.” He doesn’t expand, instead turning to Akira. “Grab me one of those weights from over there, will ya, Joker?”

Goro looks over at him from the shoulder press. “Joker?” he repeats. “Is that a nickname?”

Akira and Sakamoto exchange looks that seem to hold their own conversations. It almost looks like there’s genuine panic in Sakamoto’s eyes, hand scratching the back of his neck, but then Akira cuts in and says, “It’s because I tell such good jokes.”

“Ah. Do you?”

“He totally does,” Sakamoto adds in. It feels a bit like a sibling backing up a ridiculous story to a critical parent. “They’re smashers. Gets everyone laughing.”

Goro can feel his eyes narrowing. What sort of moron do they take him for? He’s a detective; he knows when people are egregiously lying to him. Why, though, someone would fumble and fib so much over a nickname is a true mystery, especially when considering how much Sakamoto is in an awful hurry to zoom the conversation along.

They spend a good hour rotating through the equipment, Goro oftentimes pretending he’s weaker than he is. Goro Akechi, good boy detective, doesn’t get any exercise beyond the occasional morning jog, for he’s far too busy with his work, unlike Goro Akechi, otherworldly combat master. It’s better to suffer the ridicule of Sakamoto mocking his stamina than to answer the questions of why he’s so unreasonably strong.

He can almost understand how this is something of a bonding activity. Bonding through sweat and exertion, in a strange, masculine sort of way. Not to mention that there’s nothing that builds trust more than having spot someone who’s bench pressing a bone-crushing amount of weights.

Akira offers to take the Shujin sweats back after they’re finished, but Goro’s manners step in and make him promise to wash the clothes as thanks first. He slips back into his usual attire as quickly as he can before Sakamoto can make some off-color joke about his choice in underwear. Surprisingly enough, Sakamoto is on his best behavior, and doesn’t revert back into any neanderthal antics in the locker room.

Still, to avoid poking the beast, Goro waits until Sakamoto’s in the bathroom to ask Akira a few questions.

“Pardon me for bringing it up,” Goro says, carefully grabbing hold of Akira’s elbow, “but would you mind if I asked a question?”

Curiosity alone seems to steer Akira in the direction of his nod.

“What happened with Sakamoto-kun’s leg? Was it serious?”

Understanding dawns in Akira’s eyes. He pauses a moment. “It’s been dealt with, if that’s what you’re getting at. There’s not much the police can do at this point.”

That answer is far too vague for Goro’s liking. He presses on. “Was he abused?”

Akira’s mouth twitches. He seems to be in something of a battle with himself, presumably over whether or not sharing more without Sakamoto’s permission is appropriate. “You know Kamoshida? The teacher at Shujin?” he finally says.

“Ah. You’re referring to the first victim of the Phantom Thieves, are you not?”

“He used to coach the track team when Ryuji was part of it.”

“Oh. I see.” Goro faintly recalls reading about Kamoshida’s laundry list of victims a few months ago, how not all of those affected were girls vulnerable to sexual assault. Still, in Sakamoto’s case, he had fully expected a radically different story of horseplay or even gang violence, if not the wildly unlikely but completely preferable luck of something along the lines of an injury as the result of a Shadow attack. Nothing would cinch this Phantom Thieves case faster than one suspicious slip-up of a reply. Knowing it was the result of a teacher with a questionable set of morals changes everything, and might even explain Sakamoto’s bad attitude.

“It’s okay,” Akira insists. “He’s worked through a lot of it. And he’s finally starting to trust himself to run again, so there’s that.”

Goro sees an opening. Careful, he reminds himself, and puts a beguiling smile on his face. “He must’ve been pretty relieved to see Kamoshida be served by the Phantom Thieves then, I suppose?”

The look Akira gives him is measured. “Can you blame him for being a fan?”

_A fan_. Well played. Depending on how the Thieves operated, Sakamoto might be a little too brainless to actually be considered a suspect. Then again, if they required someone with a minimal skill-set whose only talent needed to be unfettered aggression, Sakamoto would fit in quite nicely.

“I suppose not. I’m sure he feels he owes them a great debt if he truly was so tormented by his teacher.” Goro draws himself back together, feeling his opening whittle away. “I apologize if the question was too forward. It must’ve been a trying time for him.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you about it himself.”

Goro internally scoffs. Or possibly, inadvertently externally.

“I mean it,” Akira tells him. “Same goes for me. Friends confide in each other.”

What a load of bullshit. Goro holds back the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Thank you, Akira-kun. That means a lot to me.”

\--

Shido is hidden behind an opened newspaper when Goro walks into his office the following morning. The headline, in rich black ink, reads _MAFIA CRIME BOSS TAKEN DOWN BY PHANTOM THIEVES — WHO’S NEXT?_

When he’s noticed Goro’s presence, Shido rolls the newspaper up. He points it at Goro like a sword.

“And?” he says, skipping all attempts at pleasantries. “Have you gotten any closer to figuring out the Phantom Thieves’ true identities?”

“Of course.”

Shido lets his minutely raised eyebrows ask the follow-up question for him. When Goro doesn’t immediately respond, he huffs a sigh, leaning back in his high-backed chair.

“Who are they?” he asks.

The obvious response pokes Goro like a child with a stick. Goro’s seen and heard more than enough incriminating evidence from Akira and his friends to at least point a finger in their direction, but he’s finding it difficult to get the words out. After all, he might be mistaken, and to accuse them now would be to all but send them to the guillotine. Shido wants names, not explanations, and definitely wouldn’t waste his time checking to see if their guiltiness was a fact or little more than a theory.

“I’m still merely speculating,” Goro says carefully. “I’m not certain yet.”

It’s clearly not an answer Shido enjoys hearing. He sets the newspaper down. “And when will you be certain?”

“I’ll need to gather more proof,” Goro says.

A strangely suspenseful silence hangs between them, as if from a taut string. Shido puts eyes on him that seem to be judging, examining, and criticizing all at once.

He leans forward on the desk. The wood creaks in a low groan under his elbows. “You aren’t starting to sympathize with these Thieves, are you?”

Goro’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket. The office is quiet enough that Shido seems to hear it, as well as the buzz that arrives a moment later, and another one after that. It must be the group text. When Goro’s life took such a turn that he’s found himself unceremoniously added to a group chat, he’s really not sure.

Goro takes the high road and chooses to ignore it. “Of course not,” he says. “They’re criminals. There’s nothing to sympathize with.”

His phone buzzes again. Goro has a million explanations at the ready should Shido start asking questions—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Know thy enemy. The opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself. That’s exactly what’s going on here.

A long silence stretches between them. Goro knows—just knows—that Shido is waiting for another telltale buzz. When it finally comes—of course it comes—he slowly inhales and sets his eyes boring into Goro’s.

“So their mission,” he says, “of reforming those they have deemed immoral. It doesn’t appeal to you?”

Goro’s jaw twitches. “The justice system can do that just fine on its own without renegade vigilantes taking it into their hands.”

Shido doesn’t respond, but his eye contact doesn’t waver. It’s a tactic, Goro knows it is, but it doesn’t make it any less hair-raising.

“If that is really how you feel,” he finally grumbles, “then hurry up with catching them.”

\--

Goro @ 5:21pm: When might be a good time for me to bring by the sweats you kindly lent me at the gym?

Akira @ 5:25pm: now would be good for me. 

Akira @ 5:25pm: are you busy?

Goro @ 5:26pm: I’m afraid tonight won’t be an option. To be honest, I haven’t found the time yet to take them to be cleaned. Would this weekend be all right?

Akira @ 5:27pm: you haven’t washed them yet?

Goro @ 5:27pm: No, and I’m quite sorry. Work has just been demanding of my time as of late.

Akira @ 5:28pm: there’s a great laundromat by leblanc

Akira @ 5:28pm: want to come by?

Goro @ 5:28pm: This evening?

Akira @ 5:28pm: yeah

\--

So he goes to Leblanc. The trains are quiet this time of day, late enough that the after-work rush has ended, and Goro would usually use such a peaceful commute to get some work done. Thoughts of Akira keep him from getting any work done, and thoughts of thoughts of Akira are keeping him from much of anything other than his own embarrassment.

The fact that Akira’s begun to grow on him is worrying, especially since Goro has yet to suss out the ulterior motives to his kindness. Emotion and investigative work don’t blend well. And there’s something about Akira that’s begun to turn Goro’s brain to compost, which can’t bode well for his detective career.

Akira’s leaning outside the cafe door when Goro arrives at Leblanc, briefcase in one hand and Akira’s sweats folded over the other arm. He smiles when he sees Goro, and Goro’s gymnast heart cartwheels against his ribcage.

No, he tells himself. Like how one might train a rebellious dog.

“Good evening,” he says. “I haven’t kept you waiting long, have I?”

Akira shakes his head. He’s rucked the sleeves of his white button-down up his arms, forearms white under the glow of the lamp flickering by the door. He looks like something out of a fever dream, which is one of those thoughts that Goro has to bleach away immediately.

The walk to the laundromat is short. Yongen-Jaya is small, but it certainly has everything its residents need, and Goro finds himself envying the simplicity. So much of his life is complicated lately. His apartment is starkly boring in an attempt to keep himself from being overwhelmed by it all sometimes. The crowded trains, his crowded email inbox, his crowded schedule, the crowded city that never seems to stop buzzing in Goro’s ear. Things are a bit calmer here, in the moonlight, in a laundromat that smells like clean soap, in Akira’s company.

“Thank you for telling me about this place, Akira-kun,” Goro says as he starts up the washer leans against its vibrating door. “Yongen-Jaya has more to offer than I realized.”

It’s a bit rundown, but it certainly fits into the standard of the neighborhood, and save for the grime and horrendously mustard yellow appliances, the dryers and washers themselves all seem to be working. There no doubt would’ve been a laundromat closer to Goro’s place, but the lure of a relaxing train ride urged him to accept Akira’s offer. Also, perhaps, the appeal of Leblanc’s coffee. Seeing Akira was—irrelevant.

Irrelevant. Goro’s sticking with that for now.

“It’s not a bad town,” Akira says. “Just a bit quiet.”

Goro shrugs. “I would say that’s preferable to the noise of the city. My apartment overlooks a fairly loud street, and it makes sleeping a real challenge. Working, too.”

“Is that what you would have been doing tonight if I hadn’t asked you to come here?”

“Working?” Goro asks, and Akira nods. Next to him, the washer provides a hum of background noise, shaking against the wall. “Most likely, yes. I’ve been… more swamped than usual lately.”

“With what?”

Shido’s endless machinations come to the forefront of his mind. After all, Goro might actually be capable of juggling both school and work if work didn’t come with countless TV appearances and regular trips to Mementos. Okumura’s been enjoying the fringe benefits of being on Shido’s team too much. Goro can only imagine how many more mental shutdowns aimed at fast food franchises he can orchestrate before people start to connect the dots. Tracking all those corrupt hearts down in Mementos has been time-consuming at best, and time is a commodity he’s short on these days.

“Goro?”

Goro snaps back to attention, drawn out of his thoughts. Right. Akira’s looking at him with something that might just be concern, which is more irritating than it should be.

“Sorry. I just realized I have a paper due this week,” he lies. “To answer your question, I’d be trying to finish up homework and spend some time looking over case files the police asked me to assist with.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Not as much as you think, I’m sure,” Goro says. “I really just lend my… unique perspective more than anything else. I’m certainly not given the same responsibility as a detective employed by the department.”

“Have you weighed in on the mental shutdowns?”

Goro glances at him. Akira’s expression is too inscrutable to figure out. Is he trying to weasel information out of Goro? He very much doubts Akira’s looking for a confession at this point; he would have little to no evidence pointing in Goro’s direction. Much more likely is that he’s as invested as everyone else is these days about the mystery of the mental shutdowns. 

“I have,” he says. He turns the questions around. “What do you make of them, Akira-kun?”

“People are talking about them everywhere I go,” Akira says.

“As much as the illustrious Phantom Thieves?” Goro asks.

“Do you think they’re the ones behind the mental shutdowns?”

The plan is to certainly make it seem so. Goro listens for a side-note of worry in Akira’s tone, a concern, perhaps, for his group of masked heroes, but if it’s there, Akira hides it well.

“I’m not sure,” Goro says. “It doesn’t quite fit their current mission, but to be fair, it’s altogether possible. The Phantom Thieves are an enigma, after all, and anything we purport to know about them is little more than a guess.”

Akira doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with Goro’s implication that the Phantom Thieves might be fatal criminals. In fact, he’s smiling.

“You think they’re silly, don’t you?”

It’s a question that Goro was not, admittedly, expecting. “What?” he says. “I’m not sure silly is quite the right word—volatile is better, I’d say. Or dangerous.”

“You never wish you could take justice into your own hands?” Akira asks. “You’ve never felt that before?”

The windows in the laundromat are letting the light of a flickering streetlamp in. It plays on Akira’s face, highlighting his pale jaw, bouncing off his glasses. Something about the way he talks with Goro leaves him wanting to talk to Akira forever—not just about the Phantom Thieves, but about how he sees the world. How he would see Goro’s situation, if he knew.

Not that he ever could.

“Certainly,” Goro admits. “In a job like mine, it’s inevitable. But it’s also wrong.” He turns away, listening to the steady noises of the washing machine. “I’m sorry, I know this is a subject we disagree on.”

“I’m not so sure. There’s a Phanboy in you, I can feel it.”

“A what?” Goro asks, nearly stuttering, before he realizes that Akira’s grin has widened. “Very funny, Akira-kun.”

Akira takes a step closer. “If you’re not interested in the Phantom Thieves,” he says, “what are you interested in?”

“What do you mean?”

Akira shrugs. “I just want to learn more about you.”

“Oh.” Goro feels himself warm up. These types of questions still catch him off guard when there isn’t a microphone lingering by his face. “I… like to read mystery novels. And I like philosophy. And one day, I’d like to learn how to cook. Perhaps bake.”

He finds himself rubbing the back of his neck before he realizes he’s doing it—a nervous tick, one of his foster parents used to remind him. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but he’s burning with the feeling anyway, probably because it’s been a while since he’s actually shared something real about himself. He’s perfected the art of being evasive with his answers, of working out what it is people want to hear before replying to them, whether it be with colleagues or TV presenters or kids his own age. Revealing the truth about himself—any truth—feels too much like it’s in the dangerous territory of lifting a lid off of a can of Goro’s life and secrets and all the elaborate machinations within.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing off his discomfort. “I’m not used to talking about these things. People usually ask me about my work. Or if I’d be open to marrying them.” At Akira’s eyes, widening with every blink, Goro hastens to continue. “Oh, does that make me sound conceited? It really does happen occasionally.”

“And you’re waiting for me to follow suit.”

“W—what? Of course not.”

Akira laughs. It obviously wasn’t meant in earnest, and Goro’s failure to pick up on that and instead start involuntarily imagining Akira’s attempt at such a proposal—would there be chocolates, or roses?—is enough to make him want to yank the washing machine open and crawl inside it with the sweats.

“Do you mind me asking you about your life?” Akira asks.

Goro waits for the flames burning his cheeks to die down. “No, I don’t,” he says. It’s surprisingly true. “You ask me very different questions from the TV crews. It’s… refreshing.”

“Good. Because I’d like to hear more.”

“More? What would you like to know about?”

Akira smiles. He takes a seat on the grimy leather stool next to the dryers. “All of it.”

\--

Buzz, goes Goro’s phone in his pants. Buzz, buzz.

He shifts his legs. This infernal buzzing isn’t stopping, and against the surface of the chair, the vibrations are loud, jarring. People are starting to stare.

Yes, I have friends, Goro thinks, indignantly preening, when students start shooting him looks. Yes, they text me. And then his phone buzzes again, and Goro fantasizes about murdering those friends.

Without meaning to, Goro’s gotten himself dragged into a group chat. A group chat that goes on and on and on. About the most _inane_ things. Aren’t these people ever busy?

Goro slips his phone out of his pocket just enough to take a peek at whatever emergency must be currently hammering his phone.

Ryuji @ 10:34am: the planeteriums lame though

Yusuke @ 10:34am: Did you mean “planetarium”?

Ryuji @ 10:35am: shut up

Ann @ 10:35am: Omg

Ann @ 10:35am: I like the planetarium! Why don’t we all go after school?

Yusuke @ 10:36am: I approve of the idea.

Makoto @ 10:36am: Sounds good to me. Akira, are you available?

Akira @ 10:37am: I’m in. Goro, what about you?

Ann @ 10:38am: Goroooo?

Ryuji @ 10:39am: bro you in

Ryuji @ 10:39am: goro

Ryuji @ 10:39am: goro

Ryuji @ 10:39am: ??????????

Ryuji @ 10:40am: he dead, i guess?

\--

All of it gets substantially weirder when Makoto joins in.

It was already strange when she was so horribly nice to him when they were all studying in Leblanc. But it goes from strange to downright bizarre the following week when she shows up at the station while Goro’s working.

He spies her out of the corner of his eye coming through the front door while he’s looking through files. He assumes her to be heading for her sister’s office, but instead, she heads for Goro with the resolution of a guided missile.

“Good afternoon,” she says pleasantly.

Goro turns away from the file cabinets. “Ah… Niijima-san. How nice to see you,” he says, matching her for pleasantness. “I’m afraid Sae-san was sent to court earlier this morning.”

“Oh, I know,” she says. “I came to see you.”

“You—you did?”

“Akira-kun told me you don’t always bother with lunch,” she says. Something in her tone makes Goro feel like he’s talking to the principal. “So I brought you this.”

She withdraws a Tupperware from her bag, handing it to him. When Goro clicks it open, he finds familiar-smelling curry inside.

“Is this—”

“Well wishes from Akira, yes,” Makoto answers. “And Boss too, I suppose.”

Goro stares down at the curry for quite some time. There’s a generous helping of rice on the left. There’s a good chunk of meat in the middle, drenched in sauce. No one has ever packed him a lunch before. That’s both touching and depressing in equal measure.

“Ah. Thank you for the delivery, Niijima-san,” he says, tongue thick in his mouth.

She exhales in a way that could almost be mistaken for a huff. “No need to be so formal,” she says. “Makoto is just fine. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Are we? Goro wants to challenge, but something in Makoto’s eyes brooks no argument. That, or she’s threatening him to argue anyway. It would be a petty thing, to fight over the existence or nonexistence of a friendship. Goro manages a light smile.

“Of course. I’m glad you feel that way,” he lies. “You and your friends have been… very kind to me as of late.”

“Well, they’re not just my friends. They’re yours too.”

“Right.”

Her eyes skip over to the files he withdrew from the cabinet. The topmost is labeled _J. KANESHIRO_. Her gaze lingers on the name.

“Looks like you’re investigating the Phantom Thieves,” she says, possibly too nonchalantly. Her voice has taken on a funny shift in tone, too high at the end to be insignificant. “How’s that going?”

Her interest could be purely coincidental; she does, after all, have familial ties to police work. Still, it could all too easily be interest of a more damning nature. It hadn’t occurred to Goro before that goody two shoes Makoto Niijima could be a rebellious Phantom Thief, but given his running theory on the group’s identities and her rapport with them, it’s certainly not impossible. She may be little more than a woman of information, of data gathering and distributing, after all.

“Fine,” he says slowly. “It’s been a challenging case, that’s for sure. I’m not sure that I have the full grasp of the situation as a whole. There’s just too many unknowns—most notably the methods at play.”

“What are your theories on that?”

“Their methods?” Goro says. “At the moment, it seems mind control is all too possible, especially when linked to those mental shutdowns.”

“You think such a thing exists?”

“I often find that ruling out the impossible is short-sighted as far as police work goes,” Goro says. “Monumental advances in science are happening every day, after all.”

Goro can’t help but note that Makoto seems awfully interested in this conversation. Her thoughtful expression when she turns to face him is identical to Sae’s when she’s ruminating on a case. What, he now needs to grapple with two Niijimas with unresolved daddy issues manifesting as detective complexes?

He closes the file cabinet he’s been looking through, tucking the folders underneath his arm. “These are all just working theories, of course,” he says smoothly.

“Of course,” she says. “Regardless, I find your opinions very interesting.”

Does she really? Goro has to physically restrain himself from narrowing his eyes. There’s definitely a stink in the air, he just hasn’t found the dead fish yet.

He’s just about to excuse himself when—

“Do you have time this weekend, Goro-kun?”

That sounds suspiciously like a prelude to a suggestion to spend time together. “This weekend?”

“There’s a bookstore I’ve been wanting to go to for a while. I was thinking you could come with me.”

A bookstore? With Makoto Niijima?

She’s not hitting on Goro, is she? Goro definitely encounters his fair share of girls trying to do so, and Makoto certainly has the benign smiles and hair fussing that comes when asking someone out down pat. Then again, if this is really just her way of making friends out of strangers to alleviate the loneliness that most certainly manifests when your sister works late hours at the station and your fellow classmates see you as the nosy busybody you are, then Goro supposes he could understand her random acts of kindness.

In a way, he gets all that. Sometimes being part of law enforcement is like a physical repellent for people, as if Goro spends all his time crouching in bushes waiting to bust people for recreational drug use and riding the train without a ticket.

Still, Makoto gets to come home to a sister, and even if that sister is going a little off the frazzled deep end as of late, it’s still more family than Goro can account for waiting for him at home.

“I’d be happy to come,” he says. “It was kind of you to consider me.”

The smile she shoots him is sweet, almost concerningly so. “Of course,” she says. “Thanks for making time for me.” Her eyes focus in on the clock on the wall behind Goro. “I still have some errands to run today, but I’ll text you.”

Goro watches as she hefts her bag up her shoulder and heads for the entrance. She really came just to see Goro. That’s a first.

“Wait,” he says as she starts to leave. “My number—”

She waves him off. “Don’t worry, I have it already!” she says. “See you!”

She hurries out of the station after that. Goro frowns at her retreating backside before she’s too far out of sight, as if waiting for her to whirl around and change her mind. He certainly wouldn’t willingly choose to spend leisure time with Makoto Niijima, and he doubts she would with him. Unless—is he really that cynical about people? That out of touch with his own age demographic, the habits of his peers?

A waft of spices curls up toward his nose, distracting him. Right, the curry.

Goro glances at it, as if searching for a bug or a tracker, before he remembers that he was in the middle of chastising himself for being too cynical. And paranoid—perhaps that ought to be added to the list as well.

He gets up, curry in hand, and goes on a hunt for the nearest microwave.

\--

Goro @ 1:23pm: Thanks for the curry.

Akira @ 1:31pm: you’re welcome. would you have had lunch otherwise?

Goro @ 1:32pm: I’ll admit, no.

Akira @ 1:32pm: knew it.

Akira @ 1:32pm: did you like the curry then?

Goro @ 1:33pm: It was phenomenal.

Akira @ 1:35pm: good to know

Akira @ 1:35pm: come to leblanc soon?

Goro @ 1:37pm: Thank you for the invitation. I’ll make sure to get the Tupperware back to you as soon as I can.

Akira @ 1:37pm: I don’t really care about the tupperware

Akira @ 1:37pm: I’d just like to see you.

Goro @ 1:38pm: Is that so?

Akira @ 1:39pm: yeah.

Goro @ 1:42pm: Then I’ll be sure to stop by soon.

\--

The empty Tupperware feels like a lifeline in Goro’s hand. To come to Leblanc without it would feel… strange, which in of itself is strange, because Goro could easily just be wandering about Yongen-Jaya and feel like a cup of coffee, or he could just be visiting a friend. Everyone keeps acting like Goro’s their friend, so maybe he ought to act like one. Friends visit friends.

Don’t they?

The cafe is empty when Goro steps inside. The TV is on, softly, but other than that, the only source of noise is Sojiro behind the counter washing dishes. He takes notice of Goro wavering in the doorway quickly enough.

“Hey,” he says. “The detective kid, right?”

Goro gives him a good-natured smile. “That’s right. Don’t let me disturb, though.”

“As long as you’re ordering something, you’re not disturbing.” Sojiro grabs a dish towel, wiping his hands clean. “Just kidding. He’s upstairs.”

Goro heads in that direction, but makes a mental note to buy a coffee before leaving nonetheless. The place isn’t exactly bustling and could probably use the extra business.

Upstairs looks no less dingy than downstairs. All the furniture looks as if it was scavenged from a thrift store, if not the attic of someone’s deceased grandparents. The smell of aging wood and the strange, out-of-place collection of knick-knacks on the shelf against the wall don’t fly by Goro either.

The creaking floorboards alerts Akira to his presence. He looks up from where he’s bent over his desk, then quickly shoves what looks to be a toolbox out of sight.

“Goro,” he says, standing up. From the desktop, a black cat scampers to attention as well. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Goro waves the Tupperware in explanation. “I don’t mean to intrude,” he says. “I just intended to drop this off.”

“You’re not intruding,” Akira says. He glances at the Tupperware. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. The curry was a nice change from my usual lunch.”

He looks at Akira. Akira looks back. All the words of Goro’s extensive vocabulary seem to be vacuumed out of his brain, leaving nothing but an empty void. The silence between them stretches like a rope, waiting to be broken.

“Now that you’re here,” Akira says suddenly, “do you want to hang out?”

Goro glances uncertainly at the desk, where chunks of metal are strewn about. “Aren’t you busy?”

“Not really,” Akira says quickly. “Do you want to play some video games?”

He gestures at the ancient computer on the table by the couch. It looks like a flea market find, if not a rummaging-through-a-garbage-receptacle find. The video games that work on it must be prehistoric.

It plucks Goro’s interest.

“I’d like that,” Goro says. He sets his bag down, and the Tupperware with it. “Can I have the grand tour first?”

Akira smiles. “Sure.”

He points out a few things in the room. The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, the creaky bed pushed up against the window, the chocolate fountain sitting in the corner, off for the time being. But it’s the cardboard boxes by the desk that catch Goro’s attention.

“Still unpacking, I guess,” Akira says, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I’ll only be here a year.”

Only a year. When did the year begin? Goro’s heartbeat hits a snag.

“How come?”

“It’s just for my probation. I’m going back home afterwards.”

Goro wonders if it’s his imagination that Akira looks a bit saddened by that, if not troubled. Guilty, almost. Perhaps at what he’ll be leaving behind. Goro has the feeling Sakamoto is the sort of person who needs someone else’s homework to copy off of.

Goro turns away from the boxes. On the opposite wall is the shelf full of mismatched mementos. He gestures to it.

“This is… an interesting collection,” he observes.

Akira turns around as well. “Ah. It’s just stuff from my friends.”

If the sheer amount of objects is anything to judge by, Akira’s got a lot of friends. Goro isn’t sure if there’s any room left for him. You only need so many people in your life, so many needs fulfilled, so many personalities to complement yours. There are probably plenty of people in Akira’s life who are just as smart as Goro, or as interesting, or as well-groomed. What is it that Akira’s looking for Goro to add?

Goro remembers himself, and forces a smile in place. “Well, I find your space quite charming. Rustic, but roomy.”

“Come on,” Akira says, heading for the stairs.

“Where are we headed?”

Not far, it turns out. Goro follows him down into the cafe, which is still vacant save for Sojiro, who’s finished washing dishes and is now smoking behind the bar. His eyebrows climb up when he sees Akira slide behind the counter.

“Need something?” Sojiro asks.

“Can I show Goro the curry pot?”

Sojiro looks out over the empty tables. “Yeah, fine, since no one’s here anyway.” He gives Akira a pointed look. “As long as you don’t give away any trade secrets.”

“I can promise that your recipe will stay safe,” Goro says. “Although it truly is quite delicious.”

The flattery seems to work. Sojiro smiles—with only a hint of pride evident—and waves them back into the kitchen. It smells of hearty spices and clean vegetables, a scent that saturates the air once Akira lifts the lid on a pot near the back of the stove.

“This one’s my creation,” Akira divulges, stirring the contents. “Sojiro’s been giving me tips.”

“How generous of him,” Goro says, dipping closer. “May I have a taste?”

Akira reaches for a ladle, stretching into Goro’s personal space in the process. The kitchen is rather small, a cramped area to have one person working in, let alone two, something Goro is suddenly hyper-aware of. He tries to step aside to give Akira room and ends up bumping into the fridge in the process, which rumbles in protest.

It doesn’t slide by Akira. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s a bit tight for two people. I’ve never had anyone back here with me before.”

Something about that is oddly relieving. Goro was already imagining all of Akira’s friends packed back here, all of them double-dipping a wooden spoon, tasting the food, sitting on countertops. Apparently the kitchen of Leblanc is an exclusive location to be invited to.

Akira holds the ladle up to Goro, hand cupped underneath to catch stray drops. Goro leans in to meet it, letting Akira gently tip it into his mouth and closing his eyes. Never has anything tasted more like comfort food, like meticulously rationed spices, like—

Goro frowns, trying to narrow in on one particular taste, a peculiar one. “Is that…”

Akira leans in to speak discreetly into Goro’s ear. “Yogurt,” he admits in a whisper. “Balances out the spice, but adds sweetness too.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Goro says. “It’s delicious.”

“Thanks,” Akira says. “I could teach you, if you want.”

Goro wants anything that’ll keep him pressed close to Akira in this stuffy kitchen. That’s a dangerous thought to be entertaining, though, so Goro shoves that straight aside.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a natural talent in the kitchen,” he says. “I don’t have much time to spend making meals. My fridge is usually empty.”

“Maybe I can help you change that.”

“Maybe,” Goro says. “Although I must admit, I very much like having you as my personal chef. If I learned to cook, you might not take pity on my meager lunches anymore.”

Akira’s answering smile is so genuine Goro can’t bear to look at it longer than a second. “You like my lunches?”

“They’re a marked improvement over what I usually scrounge together,” Goro says. “Sometimes I’m too busy to eat altogether.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Akira says.

“Occupational hazard, really. Between work and school, I don’t always have time for meals as big as what I’d like.” Or friends, really, although those seem to have been sneaking their way into Goro’s schedule regardless somehow.

“Maybe you have too much on your plate.”

Goro chuckles. “I assume you mean my proverbial plate, since we’ve just discussed how empty my literal plate is,” he says. 

“We should go to the Wilton Hotel sometime,” Akira suggests. “They have a great buffet.”

The Wilton. Goro thinks of one particular returning customer at that establishment and involuntarily feels his lip curl, as if he’s just tasted old cheese. He knows there must be a certain appeal to the place sheerly because of its overpriced elegance, but the mere idea of running into Shido there during one of his business lunches while Goro’s clinking glasses with all of his new buds from Shujin Academy is enough to sour the mental image of eating there with everybody.

“They do, but I’ve always found the clientele to be a bit… stuffy,” Goro says, going for vague in an effort to stay diplomatic. “I’d enjoy a lunch out with all of you, however.”

Akira’s gaze doesn’t waver from where it’s burning into Goro’s. His eyes are remarkably gray. Suddenly Goro can only think to describe them in terms of all-encompassing immensity, like oceans and universes.

Akira lightly bumps their shoulders together. “And what if it was just me?”

“At lunch? With me?”

“Yeah.”

Goro begs himself not to look into that. He chuckles to defuse the tension building up in his own throat. “I would enjoy that too, of course. Your company is very stimulating. I believe we could teach each other a great deal.”

It’s something of a rehearsed line, one Goro tucked away for later use when he first met Akira at the TV station, but he’s surprised to find he actually means it. To a certain extent. The “teaching” is a little more about “telling” than anything else. The list of secrets Goro wants in on that Akira keeps locked up in his brain keeps growing, now continuing on into what exactly Akira means when he speaks of things like one-on-one lunches.

Akira’s gone back to stirring the curry pot. “I agree,” he says. “I learn things each time we hang out.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“About deductions, perhaps?”

Akira shakes his head. “About you,” he says. He needs to stop saying things that are like electric shocks to Goro’s ear canal. “Do you want a bowl?”

“P-pardon?”

“Of the curry,” Akira explains. “Before we go back upstairs.”

“Oh. Yes, that... would be lovely.”

Akira hauls two plates out of the cabinets and serves up a dish for both of them. Goro accepts Akira’s offer for seconds when he finishes his first round, and somehow, it ends up tasting even better than the curry he had for lunch the other day.

\--

“There’s something different about you lately, Akechi-kun,” Sae says to him the next morning by the coffeemaker. “You look…”

“Fatigued?” Goro offers. “I’m afraid work has kept me up late recently.”

She shakes her head. “No, I was going to say… happier.” She examines him in a way only a prosecutor can. “More… relaxed, maybe. Laid-back.”

The machine is spitting coffee grounds—why is everything in this station so fucking inefficient?—into Goro’s mug, which he quickly grabs and jerks aside. He doesn’t know where Sae’s getting this from; nothing’s changed about him as of late except for perhaps less sleep than usual. It doesn’t help that he takes the word _laid-back_ as something of an insult, at least where work is concerned. What would be relaxing him these days anyway?

“Makoto told me she’s been spending time with you lately,” Sae continues. “Along with some of her other friends. “

Goro focuses hard on flicking the sugar to the bottom of the packet. “I see. “

She knocks her elbow into his. “Hey, don’t look so grim,” she says, nearly laughing. “It’s nice to see you let loose a little. Hang out with people your age.”

Goro’s image is not exactly well known for any of those things. He clears his throat. “If someone extends an invitation to me, naturally, I take it.”

She doesn’t quite seem to buy his nonchalant excuse. She gives him a private little smile, like she’s in on his dreadful secret of having friends—she’s not in on _anything_ and Goro wishes she would stop looking at him like that—and squeezes his arm.

“Well, whatever it is, keep it up.”

She grabs her cup and heads back to work. Goro watches her go wondering what exactly she thinks of him. It’s not a thought he’s ever had before, but knowing that Makoto is running on home blabbing about how Goro is hanging out with her leaves him a little on edge. How far could the news spread that Goro’s spending his off time with all those layabouts? Could Shido potentially find out? What exactly would he say if he knew that Goro was fraternizing with suspects?

_Too busy being a kid to work these days, Akechi?_

_This better be part of your investigation._

_I should have known you’d get caught up in the childish illusion of friendships and feelings._

_Akechi, you’re in danger of getting attached and I’m shipping you off to the circus before you can compromise the mission any further._

Goro shakes his head to rid himself of the disturbingly vivid images his brain is offering him of circus life. He rips the sugar packets open, pours them into his coffee, and hastens back to work.

He has everything under control.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryuji @ 4:08pm: AIGHT GUYS NIGHT!

Ryji @ 4:09pm: everybody in or what?

Ryuji @ 4:09pm: big bang and then bathhouse by akira’s place sound good?

Yusuke @ 4:10pm: I very much like the plans. But perhaps we could go for sushi instead.

Ryuji @ 4:10pm: dude can you afford sushi right now for real

Akira @ 4:11pm: It’s okay, I’ll spot Yusuke this time.

Yusuke @ 4:11pm: Thank you, Akira. That’s very generous.

Yusuke @ 4:12pm: Goro? Are you available to join us?

Goro @ 4:14pm: I’ll have to check my schedule. I may have a televised interview to film this evening.

Ryuji @ 4:15pm: it’s aight. if you don’t wanna come we can always kidnap you.

Goro @ 4:15pm: Excuse me?

Yusuke @ 4:15pm: He’s kidding. I think.

Goro @ 4:16pm: In an effort to avoid any untoward kidnapping practices, I’ll come willingly given my evening is free.

Ryuji @ 4:20pm: whats the verdict? you in or out?

Goro @ 4:23pm: Looks like I’ll be able to make time.

Yusuke @ 4:24pm: Wonderful. We all look forward to seeing you.

Yusuke @ 4:25pm: Would anyone be able to help me with train fare?

\--

It’s abundantly clear to Goro just how much of a mistake agreeing to all this was once they all reach the bathhouse.

The rest of the evening’s been fine. The food was all right, almost as good as one of Shido’s commissioned meals, and the conversation had flowed well. They’re a chatty bunch. Or rather, Ryuji likes to chat and the rest of them nod along while he keeps the conversation afloat with various rants about homework and teachers. (By now, he feels a bit like a rambunctious stray cat that lurks in the trash behind Goro’s apartment that Goro’s started to tolerate, in spite of Ryuji’s mental and emotional age of a toddler.)

But now they’re all at the bathhouse, and now everyone’s in swimsuits, and now Goro feels a bit like cartwheeling himself off into the sun.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was this exposed in front of anyone. He wears sweater vests in the summer; he’s not one for oiled shirtless photoshoots and flaunting his figure. Such a thing would hardly bolster the image of a career-driven, intelligent detective.

Even weirder, somehow, is how exposed everyone else is, and with none of the anxiety Goro has packed alongside. Ryuji’s swim trunks are hung low enough on his hips that one unfortunate wiggle of a knee would probably reveal his unmentionables. Yusuke looks like a lanky beanpole’s worth of pale skin. Akira—

Akira’s taken his glasses off, and the sight of his uninhibited eyes is disturbingly intimate.

“Sweet!” Ryuji yells once they all leave the locker room. “No old geezers to boil us alive today.”

Ryuji makes a splash as he hurries into the bath like an unleashed dog. Yusuke enters more cautiously, with Akira following. Goro sits on the ledge to test the waters with a hesitant foot, finding it just on the edge of too hot, while Ryuji wades his way over to the taps, fiddling with the stream.

It feels odd, doing this. A night with the guys. Slumming it with the intellectually unendowed. Hanging around in a bathhouse with a bunch of boys Goro didn’t even know just a few short months ago. Goro doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this cozy group suddenly enveloping him into their folds, not when he still has a job to do in between all this male bonding. Shido’s orders sit on his shoulder like a squawking parrot.

Goro gets his legs in to the water to his knees. The steam curls upward from the waterline. It’s dampened the edge of Akira’s hair, hair that Akira pushes aside to reveal a moistened forehead and dark eyelashes. His glasses would’ve no doubt fogged over by now.

A moment later, Akira tilts up to look at him. There’s a funny smile on his face, like he realized a while ago that Goro was staring.

Not _staring_. Admiring? No, fuck. Looking. Innocently.

“Forgive me for staring.” Goro tries to laugh off his own comment. “I just realized I’ve never seen you without your glasses, Akira-kun.”

Ryuji stretches his arms out behind himself, dragging water along as he lays them on the ledge. “He doesn’t need ‘em,” he says. “Just there to make him look smart.”

“I’ve personally never understood the idea that vision correction equated intelligence,” Yusuke adds in. “I always imagined it was for the aesthetic.”

“They help me blend in,” Akira says.

“Blend in?” Goro repeats. “Is there something you need hiding from, Akira-kun?”

Akira shrugs. The water ripples outward from his chest after the movement. “It’s more about… staying out of trouble.”

“Ah. Your past.”

Akira doesn’t confirm or deny his suspicions, just busies himself with guiding a few bubbles away from his corner of the bath. It would make sense if Akira felt the need to conceal himself after everything that happened in his hometown, but then—why the Phantom Thieves? If Goro’s suspicions are heading down the right path, that decision seems to be completely counterproductive from his goal of remaining as unassuming as possible.

Is it just stupidity? Is Goro giving him too much credit? Or perhaps underestimating a teenage boy’s desire for fame and glory?

“Do I look better without them?” Akira asks.

Goro’s ripped out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

“My glasses. Do I look better without?”

Goro feels his eyes—those traitors—widen without his consent. Akira has a smile on his face that’s almost teasing, but Goro can’t help but think about his question in earnest—there’s something quite appealing about him without the glasses, possibly because it makes him look how he must appear early in the morning, freshly out of bed, or perhaps even very late at night, tangled in the sheets—

“You pull off both looks quite well, Akira-kun,” Goro says.

Across the tub, Ryuji sighs. “Diplomatic as always,” he huffs, tipping his head back to glower at the ceiling. “You ever think about going into politics?”

Well, that hurts more than Goro expected it was meant to. He slips into the water up to his chest, briefly wishing he could go entirely underneath with his head if only for a moment to have a second to himself. This is why he doesn’t bother with friendships; there’s just so little of the day left for his alone time.

“I don’t care much for politicians,” he admits while his hands curl tightly together under the cloak of the water. “I don’t believe they serve the people as much as they claim.”

“Right. Not like you and your detective work, huh?”

There’s a real slice to Ryuji’s voice. It surprises Goro to hear that underlying acidity, carefully concealed behind a too-big grin. Then again, he’s pretty sure he knows where it’s coming from.

“I suppose you still oppose my stance on the Phantom Thieves,” Goro says. “I believe a bit of disagreement here and there is healthy, don’t you?”

Ryuji’s shrug is a bit too passive aggressive for Goro’s liking. “I don’t know. Kinda feel like if you’re not against creeps like Kamoshida and thugs like Kaneshiro getting what’s coming to ‘em, we’ve got a whole lot to disagree about. Ow!”

A few bubbles rise to the surface. Combined with Ryuji’s glare in Yusuke’s direction, Goro has an idea as to what just happened under the cover of the water.

“There’s no doubt, those men were criminals in every sense of the word. But when someone—anyone—takes it upon themselves to, as you put it, deliver them what’s coming to them—and anonymously at that—it’s certainly troubling. And if history has taught us anything, their vigilante justice could easily meld into a hubristic overreach into territory that isn’t theirs to govern.”

There comes that unnerving shark’s grin again. It’s possible he hasn’t understood a word Goro’s just said. “Guess we just gotta agree to disagree on that one, detective.”

The quiet that follows is bordering on unsettling, if only because Goro is half expecting Ryuji to leap across the bath and strangle Goro. He’s still making out the nuances of Ryuji’s character—he’s undoubtedly juvenile and needlessly aggressive with his emotions, but around Goro, he seems to be somewhat… leashed. If that’s a limitation simply borne of a new friendship or if there’s another reason, Goro isn’t sure yet.

The conversations uncomfortably tapers off, but the bubbling water keeps the room from being too silent. Goro tries to will himself to relax. Mementos hasn’t exactly been forgiving on his body, and the hot water should be a healing salve to all those sore muscles, but as far as Goro’s concerned, he’s still on the clock. Any of them could let a vital piece of information about their involvement with Phantom Thieves slip at any moment.

“This is a truly exquisite respite,” Yusuke says, eyes closed, submerged chest-deep in the water at one end of the tub. “My muscles have required such a treatment for some time now.”

Suspicious.

“I didn’t realize painting was such a strenuous hobby,” Goro says. “How aggressive do you get with your brushes, exactly?”

Yusuke blinks his eyes open, but it’s Ryuji who comes rushing to his defense. “You should see the guy when he gets in one of his trances. He’s like a man possessed.”

“I see. Say, Yusuke—would you ever allow me to sit in on one of your painting sessions? I’d love to see an artist like you at work.”

“Certainly,” Yusuke says. “I’ve been working on a piece for some time now. There’s a definite appeal to the quiet motivation of having an audience member watch my process.”

Their show of civility—take notes, Sakamoto, Goro thinks—seems to inspire calm again, and even Ryuji returns to light-hearted small talk about sports and exams before they decide to get out of the bath. The entire evening solves a riddle that Goro has been puzzling over for years, which is what teenage boys do together when hanging out en masse. Apparently, not much of anything concrete, which is both a relief and something of a disappointment after imagining much rowdier, decidedly illegal get-togethers in his head.

“We can’t let it end here,” Ryuji says after they’ve all toweled off. “C’mon, guys’ night doesn’t end at nine freakin’ p.m. We gotta keep it going.”

“What do you suggest?” Yusuke asks.

“We should do a sleepover or somethin’.”

Oh, absolutely not. Goro doesn’t actually know what a teenage boy sleepover entails, but he intends to never find out. Prank calls deep into the night? Shoving each other into the fridge for fun? Experimenting with bomb making? Talking about girls?

“Are you offering up your home for such an occasion, Ryuji?” Yusuke asks, tilting his head.

“There’s no way my mom would be okay with that many people in her house,” Ryuji says. “Akira, what about your place?”

“I wouldn’t know where all of you could sleep.”

“My dorm room certainly wouldn’t be appropriate,” Yusuke says.

Ryuji swivels over to Goro. If the idea of experimental bomb making with the guys was terrifying before, the idea of it all happening in his own apartment is a hundred times worse. Before he can open his mouth to calmly but firmly reject this ridiculous notion, Ryuji leaps on the opportunity.

“Sounds like we’re all headed to your place,” he says, in a tone that is alarmingly matter-of-fact.

“I, well,” Goro starts to say. “I’m not sure that’s such a—”

“Oh, c’mon, man. None of us have ever even seen your place,” Ryuji gripes. “What’s going on, you hiding a dinosaur there or what?”

Goro doesn’t think a dinosaur is something that’s even capable of being hidden. Piles and piles of Phantom Thieves research and confiscated mental shutdown files and work folders do come to mind, though.

“Ryuji has a point,” Yusuke says, thoughtful. “I’m very curious as to how your living space is crafted.”

“Oh, it’s nothing special.”

His words fall on completely deaf ears. Ryuji is ignoring him entirely, turning away from him to regard the others. “Okay, but I’m gonna need to grab some snacks first. What about we hit the market by the cafe and then head for Goro’s place?”

“Well, I’m not sure if—”

“I’m on board with that plan,” Yusuke says. “I’ve been craving seaweed chips since we got here.”

“Perhaps we could instead—”

“I’ll need to run it by Sojiro,” Akira says. “But I imagine he’ll be fine with it.”

“Yes, but perhaps—”

Ryuji claps his hand on Goro’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll totally be on our best behavior, or whatever.”

That’s really not what Goro’s concerned about, although it is now that Ryuji’s mentioned it. He’s going to get angry notes slipped under his door tomorrow morning about the unacceptable noise level, isn’t he.

\--

Everyone agrees—although the word is quite loose from Goro’s end—to reconvene at Goro’s apartment in one hour in order to grab pajamas, buy late night snacks, and ask for permission from various guardians and dormitory attendants. Goro, meanwhile, races home to clean up and hide any police files that need to be concealed from any prying eyes or sticky hands. Even the temporary relief of giving them all a false address sounds tempting now.

After all his confidential work is stashed away, Goro looks around the apartment, this time with the appraising eyes of the average teenage boy. Will they think the place too clean? Too boring, too tidy? Will Goro’s collection of mystery novels be laughed at? Will Goro then subsequently get arrested for throwing Ryuji out the nearest window out of sheer frustration?

Yusuke’s the first to arrive. He’s carrying a pillow under one arm and dragging a trolley with an empty canvas and collection of paints with the other.

“Just in case,” he says in explanation, which is really no explanation at all.

Ryuji comes next, with Akira following shortly after. He’s put his glasses back on again, which is somehow stupidly endearing now that Goro knows about their uselessness.

“I brought movies,” Ryuji says, toeing off his shoes and dumping DVDs onto the carpet. 

He sets about choosing one for the lot of them while Goro goes to the kitchen under the guise of grabbing them all beverages, while in actuality, he just wants a moment to himself to decide how to behave appropriately tonight️️️. He can hear Ryuji in the living room loudly talking about how cushy Goro’s apartment is, and Goro has a suspicion that he’s come to this conclusion because Goro keeps his place clean, an adjective he can only imagine doesn’t describe a single inch of space in Ryuji’s room at home.

Goro brings a teapot over once he realizes he has no other options. He’s not one for soda, he’s short on milk, and he doesn’t have any alcohol, the last most likely being the one Ryuji was hoping for. Snacks have been spread out over the table by the time Goro returns, Ryuji tossing chips into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

Goro feels his frown twisting. When did his living room become invaded by twelve-year-olds, and how can he call their parents to urge them to pick them up?

“Sick place, dude,” Ryuji says, mid-mouthful, as Goro sets the teapot down. “Kinda small, but still cool. Like something outta an ad.”

He sounds wondrous enough, but Goro has a suspicion about what he really means: his apartment looks more like a model home than someone’s actual living space. There aren’t any messes in corners or piles of personal clutter on tables. Barely any touch of personality at all.

“I don’t spend too much time here,” Goro says as an explanation to the question Ryuji hadn’t actually asked. “I’m mostly at the station, and if I’m not there, I’m at school trying to catch up on what I’ve missed.”

“Then I’m all the more flattered you made time for us this evening,” Yusuke says from where he’s sitting on the couch next to Akira. “Your schedule must be packed even on slower days.”

“That’s true, especially on days when I have television interviews.” Or trips to Mementos. “But I enjoy a bit of downtime as much as anyone else.”

“Catch!” Ryuji hollers.

A second later, a packet of popcorn smacks into Goro’s chest.

“You got a microwave, right, dude?” Ryuji asks.

Goro sighs. He’s going to be picking bits of popcorn out of his carpet for ages, to say nothing about the grease he can already imagine will be all over his couch cushions. Perhaps he could instill a floor-only rule for Ryuji, like when people don’t allow dogs on the furniture.

Goro breathes through his nose. “I do,” he says, grabbing the popcorn and heading for the kitchen again.

Akira jogs after him before he can close the door behind himself. Goro’s just unfolding the popcorn bag and stuffing it into the microwave as Akira sidles up close to him.

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t mind Ryuji. I know he can be a bit loud.”

_A bit loud_ is putting it mildly, if not inaccurately. Maybe he’s an acquired taste. Or a virus, one that grows on you whether or not you want it to. Not that there are any antibiotics he can take for a home invasion like this. Right now, Ryuji’s like a noisy, blond mosquito that keeps showing up to pester him.

Not that Goro should really let that irritation show. Akira is looking a little apologetic, so maybe Goro’s not been doing so well at keeping his mask on. 

It occurs to Goro as he glances over where Akira’s standing by his refrigerator that he’s never ever actually had people over like this before. Now that he’s taking it in, even just the sight of people milling around his apartment, his belongings, his furniture, is a strange thing to behold. Not even Shido’s ever seen his place, and he’s the one financing it.

Goro lets a rare sliver of honesty escape him as the microwave hums to life. “I’m not sure he likes me very much,” he says. “Some of the comments he made at the bathhouse—” He stops, catching Akira’s eye, and attempts to laugh off the entire conversation. “I’m overthinking this, aren’t I?”

“He likes you,” Akira is quick to say. Too quickly? “Honestly, I think he just likes riling you up a little.”

Goro’s eyebrows climb up. “Riling me up?”

“You get—really into your arguments,” Akira says. “You both do, but you’re always so cool and collected.”

While Ryuji is an irascible disaster. Goro’s picked up on that.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Akira-kun,” Goro says. “As long as you don’t think Ryuji is playing some elaborate prank on me…”

He means it in jest, but Akira doesn’t answer, expression gone soft. Once he notices Goro staring, he swiftly returns to his usual disposition, nudging his glasses up his nose. 

“He just takes a bit of warming up to,” Akira says.

“And less provoking, I would imagine. I suppose I should avoid the biggest point of conflict between us, the Phantom Thieves.”

“All that’s just because Ryuji’s a Phantom Thief,” Akira offers up, voice void of any telling emotion.

Goro blinks, then blinks again. Did he hear that correctly? Did Akira really just offer that up for no good reason?

The microwave beeps. It’s then that Goro realizes that Akira’s face of stone is cracking, lips twitching.

“You’re always coming up with ways to surprise me,” Goro says, shaking his head.

Akira’s poorly stifled laughter stops at that. “I surprise you?”

“I—ah. I just meant that you’re a very intriguing person, Akira-kun.”

He saves himself the humiliation of looking Akira in the eye by grabbing the popcorn out of the microwave.

By the time the two of them retreat from the kitchen, Ryuji’s narrowed the movies down to a few contenders and Yusuke’s begun picking his way through Goro’s literature collection.

“Your personal library is fascinating,” Yusuke murmurs when Goro appears. Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_ is open in his hand, his eyebrows furrowed, and Goro can only hope Yusuke will dismiss its presence in Goro’s bookcase as a red herring rather than an accusatory, murderous arrow pointed in Goro’s direction. “Very interesting selection.”

“Yes, well, I’d be happy to lend—”

“Yadda, yadda,” Ryuji cuts in. “Whaddya guys think?” He holds up the DVD cases of a few action movies. Unsurprisingly, he seems partial to movies with extra explosions and/or maiming.

Somehow, though, things get worse once the movie starts. They all cram themselves onto the sofa, pushing in as tightly as passengers on a jam-packed train. Akira is pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Goro, elbow-to-elbow, thigh-to-thigh, leaving Goro to uselessly reprimand himself for not having a bigger couch. Goro’s never had to make allotments for other people in his home before, which feels like a woeful oversight by now.

He shifts on the couch, over and over, like a trapped snake as the movie starts.

Perhaps the most disturbing is how good it feels to have Akira so close, which is registered in the part of Goro’s brain not currently responsible for the stress of being so near Akira that they are practically two halves of the same zipper, tightly zipped. He smells fresh, like good soap, and that’s—that’s exactly the sort of thought Goro should be stomping out like the butt of a cigarette. _No_.

Also, there is popcorn truly _everywhere_.

“Thanks for doing this,” Akira murmurs to him during a pointlessly dynamite-heavy scene.

“For… allowing all of you to come here?”

Akira nods right as another car is imploded to smithereens on the screen. Is that the fourth one so far? “It was nice of you,” he whispers. “I know we sort of… pushed you into it.”

So he does know? Goro shouldn’t really be surprised. Akira hasn’t shown himself to be blind to social cues, not to mention social etiquette, even if his friends are tragically lacking training in that area. Which means—what exactly? That the pushing was less a matter of impoliteness, and more of an insistence to spend time with Goro? See his space, where he lives his life?

“That’s all right,” Goro whispers back. “It’s… a pleasant change, having so many people here.”

The corner of Akira’s lips twitch up into an almost-smile. “No raging parties up here every weekend?”

Goro laughs, which does earn him a sideline glare from down the sofa where Ryuji’s shoveling popcorn out his mouth with the elegance of a horse eating oats out of a bucket.

“I’m afraid not,” he says. He nudges his elbow into Akira’s side. “Only weeknights will do.”

It’s Akira’s turn to laugh. He doesn’t seem to expect it, so it comes out with perhaps more volume than intended. The result is Ryuji throwing popcorn at the two of them like a rascal egging the door of a house.

“Dude, shhh!” he hisses. No one’s ever hushed Goro in his own apartment before, so that’s new but still somehow on par with the evening so far.

It’s well after midnight when everyone gets ready for bed, and if having three guys in Goro’s usually empty apartment was weird, having three guys in their pajamas in his apartment is even weirder. Weirder still is the strange compulsion Goro has to abandon his bed for the night and sleep out here on the floor with everyone else out of solidarity. His paranoia that someone might snoop through his things when he’s asleep cinches it for him, and he hauls his sheets and pillow out of the bedroom while everyone else is unrolling sleeping bags and digging toothpaste out of their duffels.

“Hey, the detective prince is slumming it out here with us,” Ryuji says when he sees Goro set up his things on the floor, which makes him want to go straight back into his room and lock the door. Or possibly call the cops on a trespasser on his property called Ryuji Sakamoto. “Up top.”

He holds up a hand for a high-five. Goro returns it for the sake of maintaining niceties.

Goro turns out the lights once they’re all settled. He can make out the outline of all three of them, tucked into their sleeping bags, shifting black shapes against the shadows, as Goro gets into bed himself—the term _bed_ being used quite loosely here, as he’s sure his back will discover by tomorrow morning—and pulls the blankets up to his chest. It almost seems to be going quite well, all things considered, until—

“Hey, Goro,” Ryuji pipes up. “You ever bring a girl up here?”

It’s not a question Goro was expecting. He was prepared for something along the lines of “who paid for this pricy apartment” or “why are toiletries lined up in the bathroom,” not information on the status of Goro’s bachelor pad of a living space.

“Pardon?” is what Goro ends up going for.

Ryuji sits up, apparently wide awake. Good god, Goro was even _afraid_ that talking about girls was going to happen. As if the evening hasn’t already been painful enough.

“C’mon. You tellin’ me that chicks don’t dig the whole fancy detective guy thing?”

Whether or not they _dig it_ is irrelevant. “I don’t have much time for dating,” Goro says. “And I certainly wouldn’t ever invite a fan of my work into my living space. It could be a dangerous situation.”

Ryuji huffs, laying back down. Either he’s upset that Goro doesn’t have any juicy stories about getting laid up here, or he’s annoyed that Goro’s popular enough among girls their age that he does actually have advances to rebuff.

“Didn’t you recently spend an afternoon with Makoto?” Yusuke brings up just as the calm has been restored, throwing ripples back into the water.

Instantly, Ryuji’s sitting up again. “Duuuude, Makoto’s your type?”

“What? _No_ ,” Goro says, emphatic, now also feeling the need to sit up. “She invited me to go check out a bookstore with her.” For whatever, unfathomable reason. It wasn’t a bad afternoon in the end; Goro ended up buying a few mystery novels and talking with Makoto about which Sherlock Holmes tale was the best. “Makoto is not my type.”

The second the words come out of his mouth, he anticipates the reply he gets.

“Then what is your type?” Ryuji prods, and yup, there it is.

Goro searches the room for an emergency exit, or at the very least, the right answer to such a question. What is he supposed to say? That he doesn’t think about that sort of thing? He doesn’t, he never has. Not girls, anyway. Lately, his head only has enough space for the minutiae of his plans with—and against—Shido, but before all that, there were only ever a scarce amount of people, not that they mattered, not really. He moved too much, trusted too little, was too occupied with attaining the love of his foster family to worry about anyone else.

His gaze moves to Ryuji, whose eyebrows are expectantly high. Even Yusuke looks curious too, and Akira—Goro needs to not look at Akira right now.

“I’m honestly not sure,” Goro says, which he can tell a moment later by Ryuji’s rolled eyes isn’t an acceptable answer. “Someone… thoughtful, I suppose.”

“That’s it?”

“I haven’t thought about it too much,” Goro grits out. _Read the mood_ , he thinks (and shoots telepathically Ryuji’s way with a hardened gaze), but Ryuji still looks unsatisfied. “I haven’t exactly had time to put my preferences under a microscope.”

“I prefer blondes,” Yusuke supplies helpfully, answering absolutely nobody’s question.

“What would you want in a girl, Ryuji?” Akira asks, taking the heat off of Goro, which Goro is eternally grateful for.

“Hot,” is Ryuji’s immediate answer. “A good bod for sure.”

“And you, Akira?” Yusuke prompts.

Akira seems to deliberate. Goro doesn’t care—he _doesn’t_ —but he still leans to the left a bit to stop blocking the moonlight that’s keeping him from getting a good look at Akira’s expression. He looks… absorbed by the question.

“Someone with a bit of mystery around them,” he eventually says. “...who appreciates a nice cup of coffee.”

Goro doesn’t even know which bit of that to unwrap first. The convenient lack of gendered nouns? The funny lilt to his voice when he mentioned the word _mystery_? The offhanded, seemingly pointless addition about the coffee?

“But most important is just being someone I can trust,” Akira says.

Goro feels his stomach sinking down somewhere to Australia. Someone he can trust. Goro’s the least trustworthy person alive, even if his public persona has fooled many a people into thinking he’s a dependable source of support for justice. He’s just starting to feel a little glum when he remembers that he has absolutely no reason to be, because he’s not interested in Akira, or anything he does, or anybody that’s his type.

“Pretty boring,” Ryuji sighs. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Goodnight,” Yusuke says. “Oh. And thank you for letting us stay here, Goro.”

“Oh. Well—of course.”

Goro’s not sure why he’s so surprised by the sudden polite manners, but he’s wide-eyed as it settles in that they all might’ve enjoyed the evening here with him. Goro just wanted to get through it alive, but it looks like it may’ve worked out better than expected. Unless Ryuji murders someone with an icepick tomorrow during breakfast, which Goro isn’t ruling out yet.

He falls asleep to the sound of gently rustling sheets and even breathing. A foreign, previously unfelt calmness washes over him at the feeling of not being as alone as usual for a night.

\--

Yusuke makes good on his invitation to let Goro see him paint. Two days after the slumber party at Goro’s apartment, he gets a text inviting him to Yusuke’s after school.

After having seen the rotting shack Madarame had set up as a homebase for all of his peers, Goro didn’t think that Yusuke’s current living situation could possibly get any worse, but all that changes when he gets a glimpse of the dorm room he’s now been moved into.

All the paint spills on the wall are one thing—probably Yusuke’s thing—but the horrible odors coming from the dormitory kitchen and the deplorable lack of breathing space in each room is truly something else. Goro squeezes his way into Yusuke’s shoe closet of a room and takes a look around the sparse furnishings. Spots that should, ideally, be taken up by dressers or desks have instead been used for canvases. Lots and lots and lots of canvases.

Yusuke rifles through one particular pile with eager hands. “I’ll show you my latest work,” he says. “It’s still in progress, but I can already tell it will be a _magnificent_ painting. I’ve also been experimenting with encaustic painting, and I—”

Without intending to, Goro finds himself drifting during Yusuke’s shop talk, talk that’s growing more heated as passion usurps all his other emotions. He looks around the room for clues, anything at all that might point an accusation at the Phantom Thieves, but finds nothing of note after a cursory glance.

He can’t shake the feeling that Yusuke himself is the clue.

“—which is why the idea is simply absurd,” Yusuke continues, unaware of Goro’s lack of interest in painting techniques or Van Gogh or whatever it is he’s waxing poetic over. Goro nods along nonetheless to give the appearance of caring. “Ah! Here it is.”

He hauls a canvas, half-painted, out of the stack. It’s enormous, taking up the majority of the room, the sort of grand size saved for exhibitions and museum walls.

“I call this piece _Desire_ ,” Yusuke says, flourishing his hands like a waiter presenting an exquisite dish. His tone of voice makes his opinions on the piece clear: there’s pride, but there’s also uncertainty, the search for praise. Likely an inevitable byproduct of working with that plagiaristic snake Madarame for so long. “What do you think?”

Goro doesn’t answer at first. Something about the painting looks oddly familiar. The swirls, the choices in color. Like Goro’s seen this very artwork before, but where?

“It’s… very stimulating,” he replies. “Where did you get your inspiration?”

Yusuke doesn’t respond right away either. Instead, he starts delicately twirling a paintbrush through his fingers, eyes trained on the art.

“The human heart,” he eventually says. “Does it come across?”

Goro looks deeper at all the sinewy swirls, the blood-like bubbles framing the shapes. “I would certainly say so. The heart can indeed be very warped and shadowed.”

_Shadowed._ Shadows. Yes, that’s it—

“That’s very much the point I intended to make. It’s a bit darker than anything I’ve tackled before, but now that I have an artistic freedom to wield outside of Madarame as my mentor, I’m undergoing a bit of a... process. Mainly figuring out what my own true style of painting actually is.”

—that painting looks eerily like Mementos. The rib-like arched ceilings, the dark red light, the whorls of hazy dead ends. The resemblance is undeniable.

Goro’s pulse thumps against his neck. This is all but a confession—a very creative, artfully crafted confession, but a confession nonetheless.

“I’m still not sure if this style caters to my imagination too much, or too little,” Yusuke says. He taps the end of his paintbrush against his chin. “I must admit that it’s been a struggle for me to find myself—my true self, I suppose—after everything that’s happened.”

But would it be enough? Would one suspicious painting be evidence enough to sentence Yusuke to the courts and label him a Phantom Thief? Shido certainly wouldn’t require more damning evidence—he wouldn’t require evidence at all, really. He’d happily send Yusuke and anyone else in his vicinity to the police with the snap of his fingers.

Goro’s insides feel as if they’re warping into knots. To act rashly now—to rush to conclusions—it just wouldn’t be fair. He should look at the entire picture, at the message underneath, and not overlook a single clue.

“Sounds like growing pains to me,” Goro observes, fighting for detached calm in his voice. “Stepping out of a father figure’s clutches can be… daunting.”

“Yes,” Yusuke agrees. “Certainly.” For a few still moments, he looks at Goro without saying a word. The gravity of his silence is a little unsettling. “You sound as if you have experience in the matter.”

No. No, no, Goro is not going to sit here and talk daddy issues with Yusuke Kitagawa. He’s shutting this down right now.

“I’ve spent the majority of my childhood in foster care,” he says.

“And you never knew either of your parents?”

Is he prying, or just bonding? Goro can’t quite tell. “I knew my mother,” he says, measured. He glances at Yusuke, at his open face, free of cunning.

If anybody would understand, wouldn’t it be him?

“I did meet my father a few times,” Goro cautiously admits. “He’s not what I would call the parental type.”

“I see. For what it’s worth, you seem to have flourished just fine without him.”

Has he? Right now, Shido would definitely take ownership of Goro’s success. That he’s the one who gave Goro a purpose, a limelight, a cause.

“Maybe,” he says. He doesn’t want to talk about this any more—never really wanted to to start out with. It’s already putting a sour taste in Goro’s mouth, even if Yusuke isn’t some paradigm of filial devotion who would judge him for his strained relationship with his snake of a father, so he abruptly decides to change the subject. He claps his hands together. “Well, if you’re ready, I’d love to see you work on your painting.”

Yusuke straightens up. “Of course,” he says.

He retrieves his paints and gets to work. Goro watches, a silent surveyor, as Yusuke draws wide strokes and elegant lines with both fervent passion and meticulously careful detail, bringing to life the swirling echoes of Mementos.

Goro ignores the dread welling up in his stomach.

\--

The weekend drags for Goro after his visit to Yusuke’s dorm. He has enough work to do to last him the rest of the decade, but he can’t quite concentrate on anything that isn’t the Phantom Thieves, who have Goro under their spell as much as the rest of Japan, even if Goro’s bewitchment is more a matter of intense frustration than blind adoration.

The Phantom Thieves humiliating Medjed on a worldwide scale was another surprise. Even if it’s something that’s imperative in the long-term scope of Shido’s plan, a part of Goro—the childishly sentimental part, it seems—had hoped that the Phantom Thieves would heed Medjed’s warning and fade out into obscurity rather than rise to the challenge.

It would be—nicer, maybe, or neater, if that had happened. Easier on Goro’s conscience.

That being said, the fact that the Phantom Thieves passed the Medjed test that was laid out for them to blast themselves to even bigger fame only drills a hole in his theory that he knows who they are. It’s been all too easy to point a finger at Akira and company, but there’s no one in their group that Goro believes has the technical hacking knowledge to retaliate to Medjed like they did. Not Yusuke, whose head is so stuck in a bucket of acrylic paint that Goro isn’t sure he even uses modern technology unless strictly necessary. Not Makoto, who would admittedly be the smartest of the group, but doesn’t seem like the type to break a classroom rule, much less master the art of hacking. Not Ann, not Ryuji, and not Akira.

That, or maybe Goro’s just looking for reasons to exonerate them. Because—well, he doesn’t want to get into that.

He goes to Akihabara to distract himself. He needs a new external hard drive anyway, and perhaps the fresh air will do him good, provided he doesn’t run into any hordes of Goro Akechi fans and will have to resort to mass murder to get a moment to breathe.

The breathing appears to be wishful thinking, even without the fangirls swarming him. As a matter of fact, all Goro can hear on the train ride and on the streets is fawning over the Phantom Thieves, which has, in turn, morphed into rabid hatred of Goro’s very existence for daring to speak out against them. God forbid anybody have an opinion in this country.

The electronics store is almost a refuge from the packed streets and the gossip that’s started a beehive in Goro’s head. It’s not that he relished being idolized like some sort of marble effigy, but Goro would’ve vastly preferred countrywide indifference to the sniveling distaste that people have traded their obsessions of him for. It’s like his life can only ever be full of horribly polarized extremes.

He scrolls through the aisles at the store, pausing at the cameras, playing with some of the buttons. A few of the salespeople are glancing at him like they recognize him, but for the most part, he’s being thankfully ignored. He slips into the next aisle, the one full of laptops, and into the next, until something catches his eye a little bit further into the store.

Is that—that looks like Akira. Except—

He’s with someone, someone Goro doesn’t know. He catches a glimpse of red hair, and nothing else, the shelves too tall to see any more. 

Goro’s foot twitches forward in an abortive attempt to approach. Interrupting would be impolite, especially when he’s not sure if this a casual outing or a friendly get-together or a _date_ —

“Goro!”

Fuck. Goro’s taken too long trying to figure out if saying hello is a bad idea, so long that it’s been decided for him. Akira’s looking at him, smile on his face, and is coming closer, tiny redhead in tow.

Who, now that Goro’s managing a better look at her, looks an awful lot like Wakaba Isshiki’s daughter. His stomach retreats in his intestines. Does Akira always have such horrible taste in friends, or is Goro’s luck just this spectacularly bad?

“Hey,” Akira says. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

Goro flips the magical switch inside his brain turning on Public Goro, the one who the cameras and the squealing girls have honed into a polite, pleasant, humorous young man after years of practice.

“Akira-kun,” he says, all faux shock. “What a pleasant surprise. I was just out shopping looking for a part for my computer that’s been malfunctioning.” He makes eye contact with the daughter—Futaba, he thinks—and immediately regrets it. She blinks back at him like he’s a fish in a tank. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she looks at Akira, as if asking a question, a question that Akira ostensibly manages to wordlessly answer. She turns back to Goro with something that could be mistaken for a smile.

“Hi there, Detective Goro Akechi,” she says. “Need help with that computer part? I know my stuff with computers. Printers, too.”

“Oh—ah. That’s all right. Thank you for the offer, however.”

The longer he thinks about it, the more this all makes sense, in a terrible, truly atrocious way. Futaba’s the daughter of Sojiro Sakura, information Goro learned while Sae was running around trying to blackmail Sojiro into spilling the beans on Wakaba. And Sojiro runs Leblanc. And Akira happens to live in Leblanc. And of course they’ve since met and bonded. And Goro’s insides are turning into drying cement.

“We’re here so Futaba can work on her public anxiety,” Akira divulges. Futaba goes pink on the ears but doesn’t contradict him.

“And check out new video games, of course,” she adds. She tilts her head, jamming her fingers into her pockets and rocking on her feet. “Hey Goro, do you play any?”

_Goro?_ Did she just—

Goro grinds his teeth. It’s possible she was sent to live with bears and never learned any proper manners after her mother died, and that’s why she’s bypassing all normal formality between herself and Goro. That, or—

Something strange is _still_ going on here. Stranger than him having a civil conversation with the daughter of the woman he indirectly killed via mental shutdown.

“Uh, sometimes,” he says. “I admit I prefer reading, but I have played some very engaging games over the years that have certainly kept my attention.”

“We should all play together,” Futaba suggests.

What a horrible, ridiculous suggestion. Goro is already devising a clever excuse.

“I love that idea,” Akira says. He turns his illegal smile on Goro.

“Me too,” Goro says without meaning to.

Half an hour later, the three of them are in Futaba’s cave-slash-lair-slash bedroom while she boots up her two dozen computers so they can play the latest alien invader game. Goro’s fairly convinced by now that this isn’t a date. If it is, it’s a truly awful date, what with the fact that Futaba and Akira both encouraged Goro to hijack it. Sitting in the dark in front of the green glow of Futaba’s computers, Goro lets himself be comforted by the total lack of intimate contact between the two of them.

Wait, comforted?

“Akira’s good at Gambla Goemon,” Futaba reveals, “but I’m _awesome_ at Star Forneus.”

“Ah, well, I’m a novice at both of them,” Goro admits.

“No worries. We can handle noobs.”

Goro tries not to take offense at the title, a task made easier by the fact that he’s rather distracted by the decor of Futaba’s room. The action figures, the scribbled post-its, the trash can full of junk food wrappers, and of course, the wall of monitors. This is the sort of elaborate set-up Goro would expect of a tech center, not a teenager’s bedroom.

The gears in his brain whir a little faster. With all this equipment, Futaba would have at her hands all the tools necessary to hack into Medjed’s operations. If she’d truly have the skillset is another question, but there certainly is some compelling evidence.

Is this truly what the Phantom Thieves boil down to? A mish-mash of high school kids all evading the police out of sheer dumb luck and thanks to some of them having various useful talents at hand? If that’s how simple it is to dismantle a powerhouse such as the Tokyo law enforcement, Goro might have to weep for Japan’s future in the privacy of his own apartment later.

Futaba hands him a controller. “Try to keep up with us,” she says, voice lofty.

\--

Unknown @ 2:11pm: Greetings Goro Akechi.

Unknown @ 2:11pm: Do you enjoy water-based adventures?

Goro @ 2:13pm: Excuse me?

Unknown @ 2:14pm: The beach.

Goro @ 2:14pm: Who is this??

Unknown @ 2:15pm: Guess.

Goro @ 2:15pm: ???

Unknown @ 2:15pm: Wrong!

Unknown @ 2:15pm: It’s Futaba (〜￣▽￣)〜

Goro @ 2:16pm:How did you get my number?

~~Unknown~~ Futaba @ 2:17pm: Magic.

Futaba @ 2:17pm: So you wanna come to the beach with everybody?

Goro @ 2:18pm: Who exactly is “everybody?”

Futaba @ 2:19pm: The usual suspects. Akira, Makoto, Ryuji, Ann, Yusuke. This weekend.

Futaba @ 2:19pm: It’s gonna be mega hot. 

Goro @ 2:22pm: I’ll check my schedule.

Futaba @ 2:22pm: I saw your online calendar. Your super fancy schedule is freeeeeee~ ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ

Goro @ 2:23pm: You saw my online calendar?

\--

Goro prays for rain that weekend. No one wants to go to the beach when it’s wet and clammy, which in turn would mean Goro wouldn’t feel obligated to frolic on the beach with a bunch of kids with hero complexes. Does he really need to show all of them his bathing trunks to confirm their likelihood as the Phantom Thieves? No.

Unfortunately, the weekend proves to be hot and muggy, just as Futaba promised. Perfect conditions for the beach, except for the part where every resident of Shibuya seems to be in agreement.

“Damn, is this place crowded,” Ryuji says when they make it. He’s right; Goro gets a headache just looking at all those people. And they’re all going to ask for signatures and post pictures of him half-naked on the Internet.

“Here,” says a mummy handing him a baseball cap.

Goro blinks, then looks again. It’s not so much a mummy as it is Futaba in mummified headgear, which is more than a little jarring when not paired with a matching mummified body.

“It’s for concealing yourself,” she says, muffled. “So you don’t get swarmed.”

Goro is at a loss for words. “Oh,” he says.

Makoto hustles in before Futaba can frighten more unsuspecting beachgoers, quickly unwinding her work. She shoots Goro an apologetic glance while Futaba tries—but fails to succeed—to wrangle herself free from Makoto’s bandage removal.

“Sorry,” she says. “Futaba’s just a little shy.” She looks at the hat in Goro’s hands. “It’s not a bad idea, though. Given you don’t want to attract screaming fans all afternoon.”

Goro puts the hat on his head. This should work, even if he feels like a jock at a sporting event in a hat like this. Still, it beats the alternative of getting recognized, especially when as of late the attention has been less than positive.

They all cram their way onto what seems to be the only vacant spot on the entire beach. It’s going to take forever to wash all this sand away. Goro can already envision himself scrubbing away in the shower all evening long.

He glances sidelong at everybody else. This is supposed to be some joyous summertime vacation, so Goro pretends it is. He lays his towel out and tries to find a spot in the shade while the rest of them quabble over what to eat for lunch. 

Next to him, not engaging in the fight over sushi versus Big Bang, Makoto offers Goro a tube of sunscreen.

“Need some?” she asks, smiling.

Even after everything, her kindness is still confusing. Shouldn’t she dislike Goro, after everything he’s said to her to subtly rile her up? If her head is anything like the competitive boxing ring Goro’s expecting it to be, it must cut deep that, at the same age, he’s a successful detective while she’s doing little to live up to her father’s legacy. Goro feels compelled to dislike her, but with all the smiling and support and general helpfulness, he’s been struggling to accomplish that.

He’s getting soft.

“Oh. Thank you, Makoto,” he says.

He rubs sunscreen into his arms while everyone stretches out into place. Goro sneaks a glance over at them. Akira’s not wearing his glasses again. Goro quickly looks away once more.

If Shido could see him right now—there just wouldn’t be any logical way to explain away why he needs to spend a day at the beach with potential suspects in order to confirm their identity as the Phantom Thieves. Goro can see Shido perfectly clearly in his mind’s eye, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, reminding him that Detective Goro Akechi has an image to maintain, one of ties and neat gloves and all the maturity and responsibility of adulthood wrapped up in the novelty of a teenager. There’s no room for lounging on the beach in a swimsuit in an image like that.

Goro shakes the thought away. He’s struggling to rub the sunscreen in between his shoulders where he can’t quite reach, and the last thing he wants is one incongruous stripe of a sunburn on his back later.

A hand smoothing down his spine alleviates that worry. Goro jerks, looking over his shoulder, and there’s Akira, hastily removing his hands from Goro as if he’s just realized how odd that might seem.

“You—had some sunscreen,” Akira says, eyes wide.

“Ah, thank you for the help,” Goro says. “Is it—is it gone?”

“Not yet. Here—”

He massages the cream into Goro’s skin, rolling over the disks of his vertebrae, smoothing over the muscles over and over. In his wake trail fire ants, prickling Goro’s back like the sun is setting him aflame, and more terrifying than all that is the realization that he can’t remember the last time someone’s touched him. Honest to goodness real contact, skin to skin.

As soon as it starts, it seems to be over, and Akira’s rubbing his hands together and taking a step away. “There you go,” he says. And then, like Goro isn’t on fire, asks, “You coming into the water?”

“Later,” Goro says quickly.

He watches as Akira heads down the beach, Ryuji and Ann in tow. Is it normal, rubbing sunscreen into someone’s skin like that? Goro doesn’t have a stellar frame of reference as far as _normal_ goes. It’s altogether possible that Akira is just a thoughtful friend. Everyone certainly seems to think of him that way. That’s evident from his wall of friendship mementos in Leblanc’s attic, and his horde of pals that have all tried to buddy up with Goro the last few months, and how hard it seems to actually get time with him alone.

Not that Goro wants that. It’s just something he’s observed.

Like even right now, right down the beach, he can’t keep from noticing how Ann’s right there by his side, kicking splashes of water onto him, giggling all the while. Goro can hear her laughter from here.

It’s possible they’re just talking, but that proximity—or lack thereof—tells a different story. It would make sense, really, for that to be the case. They’re both attractive, and they go to the same school, and teenage hormones tend to be a little predictable in that spending enough time around someone often flips a switch in your brain to start seeing them under a romantic spotlight.

Doesn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Are you planning on getting in the water, Goro-kun?”

Goro whips his gaze away from the car crash in front of him to where Makoto’s materialized, smiling benignly at him, closing the cap of the sunscreen. How long was she watching him staring?

“I believe I will,” he says. “I suspect it’ll be a nice way to cool down. Even in the shade, the heat is almost unbearable.” 

Without meaning to, Goro’s gaze wanders back over to Ann and Akira. Even if he focuses very, very hard, he can’t make out what they’re saying. There’s too much chatter on the beach.

“Mm,” Makoto murmurs. “It’s been a fairly warm summer.”

Goro’s mind goes into overdrive. Maybe they send each other flirtatious notes in class, and then go get food together after, and then Akira invites her up to his secluded little attic in the evenings where they do all sorts of things by moonlight. The painter behind his mind’s eye is very vivid with his work.

“Are you all right?”

“Hmm?” Goro turns to Makoto when he vaguely registers her speaking. “Oh, yes. Do you mind if I—do you know how long they’ve been, well. Together?”

He points down the beach at the happy couple, Ryuji slouching around them like a hunch-backed third wheel. Makoto follows the line of his finger.

“Akira and Ann?” Makoto sounds scandalized. “They’re not together. Not like—not like _that_ , anyway. They’re just good friends.”

“Good friends.”

“Yes, I believe so. Akira’s good at… listening to our issues. Everyone finds it easy to confide in him.”

An ugly green possessive monster rears its head like a dragon awoken inside Goro’s stomach. It’s silly, it’s immature, but there’s something about the mental image of everyone being so taken by Akira they’re all using him as their personal therapist that irks Goro. A more primal part of himself—jealous, perhaps—wishes he would be the only one Akira has time to listen to, to talk intimately with.

It’s a ludicrous wish. Goro isn’t one to confide in others anyway. He has dozens of secrets, so many that they’ve begun to breed with each other, and he’s never divulged any of them to Akira, nor does he want to.

“Seems romantic in intent to me,” he throws out there anyway, ignoring the taut feeling in his chest.

Makoto shoots him a look. It’s an unnerving one, the look of someone who’s just started to figure something out.

“I’m pretty certain they’re not dating,” she says. The confident air with which she speaks nearly inspires the same in Goro—nearly. “Akira isn’t exactly… never mind.” She turns to Goro, her smile eerily reminiscent of a teacher’s who knows more about her students’ lives than she lets on. “What about you, Goro-kun? Or are you too busy to date?”

_Busy_ is not the only thing Goro is too much of to date. There’s also a certain degree of trust in the human species and mental stability necessary, traits he’s hoping will return once all this with Shido is finally put to rest. The idea of adding yet another someone into Goro’s mess, whether or not he’s lying to them or smothering them in the ugly truths of his life, is more foreboding than he imagines it is for the average teenager. He squints against the bright sun.

“My career is my priority at the moment,” Goro responds.

“Ah. Of course.” She seems to have dropped it, but then she very slowly breathes out, and adds, “You know, it’s possible to balance multiple things at once.”

What would she know? Makoto’s life can’t possibly consist of anything other than simpering around the student council office flaunting her good grades around school.

Goro bites the urge to spew that out loud back into his mouth, and pulls it down his throat too for good measure. He’s being harsh, he knows. It’s just—easier, he supposes, than stopping to consider she has a point. Which he isn’t going to do. He just won’t.

He goes for a disarming smile. “Oh? Are you speaking from personal experience, Makoto?”

“Not exactly, no. I’m not seeing someone, but I did realize there was more to life than grades recently,” Makoto says. She puts a finger on her jaw. “I think it happened when someone referred to me as… what was it again? A good girl pushover.”

Goro freezes. He should’ve known that was coming. Of course Makoto’s held a grudge all this time.

To his surprise, Makoto’s smiling when Goro dares to look at her, and it’s not even a malevolent smile full of loathing.

“It’s fine,” she says, going as far as to chuckle. “I get it. There’s been… almost like a competition between us, hasn’t there? But I think it’s nicer when we just get along. Don’t you?”

Goro rolls his lips into his mouth for a moment. He didn’t expect that. He never expected _any_ of this. As a matter of fact, he’s been blasted by unexpected bombs ever since he met Akira in that TV station. These people just keep making it harder and harder for him to blindly hate them. They’re reasonable, and kind, and invite him places and let him borrow sunscreen.

“That’s a very mature stance to take,” he says. “And of course I agree.”

“Great,” she says. “Then come join us in the water.”

She cocks her head to the sea, which does, admittedly, look quite inviting, a cool oasis under the heat of the sun. Goro adjusts his hat and gets to his feet.

“All right.”

It’s been a while since Goro went swimming, but it comes back to him quickly enough. So much of his life has been observing, watching from a distance, being a witness more than an engager, but today, he takes part and throws himself into the waves with everybody else. He nearly loses his disguise a few times in the process, but at a certain point, even that doesn’t concern Goro anymore.

“You’re a good swimmer,” Akira tells him when the two of them are treading water a little bit out from shore. He’s sans glasses again, and with the water having slicked his hair away from his forehead, his eyes are more exposed than ever. Looking straight at them leaves Goro feeling like he’s being swept under the tide.

“Thank you,” Goro says. “One of my foster homes growing up was right by a lake. I learned there.” He still remembers what the water tasted like when he accidentally got some into his mouth.

“Must have been nice to grow up with that nearby.”

“It was. Until I changed homes again after a few months.” By now, the whole experience is little more than a blur of swallowing water and getting sunburnt.

“Sounds… challenging.”

Goro squints against the bright sun, reflecting off of the bobbing waves. “It was. Most people assume it would have been exciting, always heading in a new direction. Like taking a vacation.” But no one wants to take a vacation for their entire lives. “I learned a lot everywhere I went, but I would’ve preferred some… stability as a child.”

It only takes a few seconds for Goro to regret saying that. Did he really just tell Akira all of that? He promised himself when he started gaining popularity in the media to keep his sob stories firmly in the past. That would be much too close to the real him, and the real him is not for sale, not for mass public consumption.

“I’m sorry,” Goro says quickly before Akira can dole out the pity. “I didn’t mean to bring down the mood or throw the woes of my past on you.”

“You didn’t,” Akira says. “It’s nice that you told me.” His mouth slants into a smile, the saltwater on his lips glinting. “Race you?”

Before Goro can respond, Akira splashes off toward the shore, swimming hard. Goro only needs another second before he’s in pursuit, not stopping until his feet hit sand. He and Akira tumble to a stop in the shallow end, breathing hard. Akira’s laughing, which Goro has just now realized is the most perfect laugh in the entire world.

“Call it a tie?” Akira offers.

“Absolutely not,” Goro says. “You had an unfair headstart.”

“I never said cheating wasn’t allowed.”

“Oh, cheating’s allowed?” Goro lets a candied laugh escape him. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.”

He seizes Akira by the ankle and tugs him underwater, who sputters and kicks until he’s back over the surface. The smile he gives Goro is wide but disbelieving, as if he’s still in the dark about Goro’s mean streak.

It makes Goro’s gut twinge, like some unseen fist is squeezing his stomach. Goro has a larger dark side than the moon, and he can only imagine how Akira would react if he ever caught a glimpse.

“Round two?” Akira suggests, grin impish.

Goro kicks off the wet sand and splashes toward the horizon. He can feel the push of the waves as Akira comes after him in hot pursuit.

\--

It’s right around five p.m., many swimming competitions and one lopsided sandcastle later, when Ryuji starts whining about being hungry, and it only takes him insistently griping for fifteen minutes for everyone to give in.

“What about sushi?” Ann suggests, squeezing her damp hair dry with her towel.

“I’m all for sushi,” Yusuke says immediately.

“Of course you are, Inari,” Futaba says. “When was the last time you even had something to eat that wasn’t dried paint?”

Ryuji digs his elbow into Goro’s ribs. “Heh, you and Yusuke have that in common,” he says. “Don’t you eat, like, shredded crime reports for lunch?” He stops, an idea coming to him. “Hey, what about if we go for pancakes?”

“For dinner?” Makoto says, sounding scandalized.

“Yeah! It’d be awesome!” Ryuji springs to his feet, energized at the prospect, which Goro can’t entirely blame him for. The idea of fluffy pancakes after an active day at the beach is nearly enough to make his stomach rumble. “C’mon, let’s all get changed.”

\--

All of them are en route to Harajuku for pancakes twenty minutes later, at which point everyone’s given up on extracting bits of sand from the crevices of their bodies for the time being. The train ride smells overwhelmingly of salt water, which Futaba continues to wring out of her hair and drip onto the floor until Makoto gently chastises her for it.

Goro’s nose is a bit sore—sunburned, he suspects, but other than that, he’s actually enjoying himself.

Through the leather of his bag, Goro feels his phone vibrate. He fishes it out to see that Shido’s texted him a reminder about his latest Mementos mission, something with no punctuation to make it abundantly clear that Shido’s patience is wearing thin.

Ryuji’s foot kicks into Goro’s shin to get his attention. Goro stuffs his phone back into his bag.

“Hey,” Ryuji says, eyes a challenge. “Got somewhere to be?”

“No worries. Just a few... work obligations.”

Ann’s arm comes down around Goro’s shoulders. “Ugh, stop harassing Goro for having a life, Ryuji,” she says. “Just ignore him whenever he gets too annoying. It’s what I do.”

“Hey, me too!” Futaba chirps.

The conversation devolves into Ryuji’s most irritating habits—routinely interrupted with Ryuji’s loud protests—and continues until they arrive at Harajuku, at which point all talk turns to pancakes.

“We should get something for Mona,” Futaba insists once they’re seated and looking through the menus. “What do you think he’d like?”

“Mona?” Goro repeats.

“My cat,” Akira answers.

“He eats… pancakes?”

Ann rolls her eyes. “He’ll eat anything.”

“But he does have a propensity for fine sushi,” Yusuke weighs in.

Goro’s detective senses tingle, like a spider’s crawl, up the back of his neck. All right, so that’s a bit weird. This is a lot of knowledge to have about somebody else’s pet, but to be fair, there’s nothing inherently suspicious about liking your friend’s cat an inordinate amount. “Expensive tastes,” Goro comments, going back to his menu.

They all order generous helpings of pancakes. Goro doesn’t eat out often, too used to being recognized—both pleasantly and not so pleasantly these days—but today, the restaurant seems too busy to notice him, camouflaged by the horde of friends he has crowded around the table with him.

_Horde of friends_. Goro feels like he’s living in a parallel dimension.

Once the waitress heads to the kitchen with their requests, Ann turns to Goro, smile wide. “We knew you’d be psyched about this place,” she says.

“Oh? How’s that?”

“‘Cause of what you told us when we first met,” Ryuji says, like it's obvious. “You asked if we were going for pancakes, and that it sounded good to you. We never actually went.”

“You… you remembered that.”

“‘Course, dude. Why wouldn’t we?”

The scaffolding around Goro’s heart goes wobbly. There are apparently people in this world who have memorized things about him, about his likes and dislikes, who care enough to file those nuggets of throwaway information into a spot that they can check back in with when trying to make Goro happy.

These people—these people might really want to be Goro’s friends.

Why is that realization making him so emotional?

“Excuse me,” he says, quickly getting to his feet.

He power-walks his way away from the table. The bathroom—he’ll just take a break there, until he can get himself back under control. No one needs to see him swiping tears away at the table because he’s getting choked up over something as embarrassing as the concept of friendship. What is this, an after-school special?

He hurries into the bathroom and locks himself into a stall, waiting for his heart rate to calm down and his eyes to stop being so wet. This is all just so—new. It was always just a one-man-world in Goro’s universe, a if-you-want-something-done-right-you-have-to-do-it-yourself life, an every-man-for-himself way of conducting himself. Even as of late, he’s been telling himself that the camaraderie of all these people has been little more than a burden, a joke that he’s the only one smart enough to be on the outside of. But to legitimately be cared for, to care himself—what does he do with these feelings? Where does he put them?

Especially if they all really are—as Goro heavily suspects—the Phantom Thieves he’s been tasked with taking down?

This is all just—this is horrible. This whole time, he thought he was outsmarting them, cleverly playing double agent, when really, he doesn’t want to be betraying them. He doesn’t want to be on Shido’s team. He wants to figure out what the fuck these friendships mean and give himself in to them.

He only opens the stall door once the fear of a heart attack subsides, hastening to the mirror to fix his appearance, smooth the ruffled hair and school the terror out of his face. His eyes are a bit glassy, which he furiously blinks away.

How fucking pathetic is he? He never should have let any of this get this far. All these stupid friendships. All those even stupider plans with Shido. He scrubs a hand over his face, sick of seeing his own terrified reflection in the mirror. He turns the faucet on to splash water onto his overheated cheeks, willing them to calm down, willing _himself_ to calm down.

He reaches inside himself, looking for that marble veneer of professional cheeriness. It’s a bit harder than normal to find it right now; it’s like it’s gone into hiding, evading him, being smothered by his competing emotions. He’s not a child. He should be able to control his feelings and put them in a box and shove that box deep underground for when he’s one day, eventually, ready to confront them.

When the acceptable amount of time spent on a bathroom break is over, Goro makes peace with his slightly flustered appearance and heads for the door.

“Goro?”

Goro jumps. Akira’s standing there, nearly hidden in the shadows of the hallway. Goro’s first instinct is to retreat back into a bathroom stall. How red are his eyes still? Obviously enough to make it clear he was getting misty for no reason at all?

He schools himself into a smile. “Ah. Akira-kun. You startled me.”

“Sorry,” Akira says. “Are you okay?”

Fuck. He’s seen the eyes.

Goro quickly attempts to blink away any evidence. “Yes, of course,” he says. “I was merely—overwhelmed, I suppose, by the…” He gulps around a thick throat. “The generosity you all have been giving me as of late. For quite some time now, as a matter of fact.”

He can feel his eyes watering again. _Fuck_. Such a skilled detective, a reader of people, an observer of the human character, a deducer of riddles, and still, he can’t figure out the mysteries of friendship? Why all these people—suspects, no less—are bestowing him with kindness?

“You’re my—you’re our friend,” Akira says. “You know that, right?”

It’s starting to sink in. It goes beyond human logic, but Goro is beginning to accept it as truth. Truth is stranger than fiction, and all that.

“Y-yes, I know,” Goro says. He can’t stand that his voice breaks, that he can’t keep it together. Akira isn’t touching him, but still, he somehow feels as if he’s being held. “You’ve all been… a very welcoming bunch.”

Even Makoto. Even _Futaba_. But if they knew—if they had even an inkling—they wouldn’t get within two feet of Goro. His stomach churns.

“Goro,” Akira says, more softly than before. Goro looks up just in time to see Akira’s hand tentatively reaching up, unsure, hovering in the air between them for a moment before gently touching Goro’s cheek. His thumb brushes, trembling, over the skin under Goro’s eye, the very same spot Goro was furiously wiping tears away from a moment ago.

He inches closer, almost imperceptibly.

Oh god. Is he—is he really—

“There you guys are,” Ann’s voice pipes up abruptly, and Akira shoots away from Goro instantaneously. “All the food just came. Come on, it’s gonna get cold.”

_Go away!_ Goro wants to impulsively yell. _Come back later!_ But she grabs Goro’s sleeve and starts pulling. It takes all his self-restraint not to fight the movement and go back to that quiet moment he was in the middle of just now, to finish it and see what happens, but it’s already gone, and he can’t claw his way back.

The walk back to the table feels a tad surreal, what with that alarming moment he and Akira just shared as well as the smacking epiphany that he genuinely likes all these noisy people, but the pancakes are tempting enough to bring him to his seat. A huge plate of them awaits Goro, served with a bowl full of fruit for personalization.

It’s nice. Everyone’s talking a lot, and laughing, and Ann even makes them all take a few group selfies for posterity, and for once, Goro lets himself enjoy the atmosphere rather than labor over if they’re all taking pity on him, or feel sorry for him, or want something from him.

He also does his very best not to zero in on the fact that underneath the table, Akira’s knee keeps nudging into his.

It’s late by the time everyone is done eating, so late that even their afternoon at the beach feels like it happened ages ago. Futaba and Yusuke both order seconds—Futaba for Akira’s cat, and Yusuke because he hadn’t eaten breakfast today after spending his money on new paints—and once they finally leave the restaurant, it’s dark outside and considerably cooler than it was this morning.

Everyone starts heading in different directions at the train station. Yusuke to the dorm, Makoto to check in on Sae at the station, Akira and Futaba to Yongen-Jaya.

It occurs to Goro then that he doesn’t want to actually go home. It’ll be quiet there, and lonely, and… he’s come to value the companionship of having people around he doesn’t have to impress. Even these people, who he’s been lying to, and who he’s been investigating, and who he keeps telling himself are not actually his friends.

He wants this, this fragile, vulnerable thing, these friendships that he’s avoided and pushed away. He wants the feeling of having contacts in his phone, and having people invite him out to eat, and having friends who ask him about his day.

“Did you have fun today?” Akira asks on the train to Shibuya. The train is quiet enough this time of the evening that there’s still breathing space. Futaba’s even snagged herself a seat, legs pulled up and fully engrossed in her phone.

“I did,” Goro says. He’s even being honest, the weight of which forces him to look out the window, at the doors, at anything but Akira’s face. The shaking of the train as it rushes along the tracks sways Goro as he tightens his grip on the ceiling strap. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

It’s strange, growing to expect things like this—invitations to spend time with people, offers to go get food together. Goro’s not used to being included, but Akira seems to be used to including Goro, because he responds with nothing but a soft smile. Goro has to look away again. Something in his stomach makes him feel like he’s about to burst through the ceiling like a rogue firework.

Their interrupted conversation outside the bathrooms comes to mind. It’s a moment that both makes the world shake uncertainly under Goro’s feet, and makes Goro want to crawl into the memory like it’s a treehouse he can nap in.

“Our school trips are coming up next week,” Akira says, pulling him back out of the treehouse just as he was starting to get hot under the collar. “Everyone at Shujin is going to Hawaii.”

“Oh? That certainly sounds exciting.” Especially compared to the pile of work Goro has waiting for him at home, including a list of people to target in Mementos emailed to him by Shido earlier this week.

“I’ll still be here,” Futaba pipes up, not bothering to look up from her phone. “So Goro can hang out with me if he gets bored.”

“We’ll send lots of pictures, if you want,” Akira offers.

“That’d be kind of you. It’s a shame I won’t be able to join all of you.”

Futaba peeks up from her phone. “We’ll just have to take pictures too,” she says, poking Goro’s knee with her shoe. “And we’ll send them to the guys to remind them what our faces look like. And make them jealous of our sci-fi marathons.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Akira says, grinning. “And maybe Goro can get a little better at Gambla Goemon while you’re at it.”

“You mean, less totally pathetic?”

Goro sputters. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry not sorry,” Futaba says. “You really are a noob. But it’s not hopeless.”

Akira nudges his elbow into Goro’s side. “From Futaba, I’d say that’s a compliment.”

“Yeah, so consider yourself lucky!”

The train slows down, approaching a station. The mechanical voice in the train’s speakers announces the location.

“Hey, that’s your stop, right?” Akira asks.

Goro nods, albeit reluctantly. More than anything, he’d prefer to go back with Akira to Leblanc, to walk up those creaky steps and watch television together before curling up for bed, listening to the insects outside the window come to life. Goro never used to mind his tiny, quiet apartment, but now with his new frame of reference, it just seems lonely, cold, a symbol of self-imposed isolation.

“It is,” Goro says, stomach sinking. That train ride was much too short. “Then I suppose I’ll see you all soon. Thank you for the fun day. I really enjoyed it.”

Futaba waves at him, distracted, from her seat, but Akira smiles at him, the kind of smile that Goro wants to commission someone like Yusuke to immortalize in a painting.

“Me too,” Akira says. “Goodnight, Goro.”

Without meaning to, Goro thinks again about their almost-something in the restaurant before the food arrived. He wants to pull the bookmark back out of that moment, to try and rekindle it now, perhaps with a sweet goodbye, but before Goro can put any action into motion, the train door rattles open.

A shuffle of passengers heading in and out of the train car pushes Goro along with the flow before he can set about initiating a different farewell, which might just be for the better. It’s one thing to accept that he might just have actually found friends in all these people, but to then notch it up even further and start experimenting with his feelings for Akira past the strictly platonic stage feels like willingly standing in a field, waiting to be struck by lightning.

He thinks about how his life has changed—inexplicably, but still tremendously—over the last few months, ever since he approached Akira in that TV station and triggered a chain of reactions. Or chain of friends, more accurately. He’s spent so long saddled with such a dogged commitment to his own solitude in the name of self-sufficiency that accepting people into his life is now an odd sensation, like learning a foreign language. He’s still trying to get used to it.

Should he even be? Won’t all of this go away when Goro’s plan goes through? If not his, then Shido’s, who, if he had his way, would stone the Phantom Thieves to death at one of his political rallies. And Goro—Goro set his loyalties and his intentions months ago. To doubt them now is to invite a world of risk into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The restaurant I imagined everyone going to for pancakes was the Eggs 'N Things in Harajuku, which looks so delicious that I'm trying to hitch a ride to Japan to eat the entire menu right now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to get this last chapter up and running yesterday, but! it was my birthday and those always end up being pleasantly busier than expected!
> 
> thank you so very much for all the love and sweet comments you all have given this story. all of it is more appreciated than i can ever express!!!

Akira @ 7:01am: on the plane! taking off soon

Goro @ 7:04am: Have a safe trip.

Akira @ 7:05am: [image attached]

Goro @ 7:06am: You all look… very sleepy.

Goro @ 7:06am: Not used to getting up at this time of day?

Akira @ 7:07am: we had to be at the airport super early.

Goro @ 7:08am: Haha. At least you’ll get to sleep on the plane.

Akira @ 7:08am: ryuji already has his sleep mask out.

Akira @ 7:10am: [image attached]

Goro @ 7:11am: He looks truly ridiculous.

Akira @ 7:12am: he says thanks.

Akira @ 7:13am: and hi. he also says hi.

Goro @ 7:13am: I appreciate the updates.

Akira @ 7:14am: I thought you would

Akira @ 7:15am: got to turn phones off soon.

Akira @ 7:15am: miss you already.

\--

Futaba does follow through on her offer to hang out while everyone else is gone. Goro expected it to be something of an empty promise considering that, from what Akira told him, she’s still a bit of an anti-social, partially reformed hermit and Goro’s not someone she’s ever spent one-on-one time with before. Still, on Sunday morning, she texts Goro an invitation to stop by her technology lair and work on his gaming prowess, and Goro, feeling a bit listless since everybody took off on vacation, agrees.

“It’s weird with everyone gone, isn’t it?” she asks while she untangles the wires of Goro’s controller. It’s obviously his because Futaba’s gone out of her way to slap tape on the back labeled _GORO’S CONTROLLER_ , which feels a little like Futaba’s version of a hug. “Kinda boring.”

“It’s certainly not as eventful,” Goro says. “Although I have been able to get a significant amount of work done this week.”

Futaba tilts her head back, staring, unblinking, at the ceiling. “ _Blegh_. Work. Just thinking about all that homework that comes with school makes me never want to go back.”

“Oh, you definitely should. Education never stops, after all,” Goro says. “Although you definitely seem to have learned plenty as far as technology goes the past few years.”

Futaba shoots him a mega-watt grin. “Oh, you have no idea what I can do with a keyboard.”

Before Goro can poke a bit more into that particular topic, their conversation is interrupted by a black cat springing up into Goro’s lap. It gives Goro a once-over, eyes slanted, which is strange enough to shut Goro up.

“Mona!” Futaba yells, panicky. “I thought you were upstairs. Come over here!”

The cat seems to reluctantly obey, which is just as puzzling as that look it just fixed Goro with a moment earlier. Perhaps it’s just a well-trained cat? With all the time she has on her hands, maybe Futaba’s managed to teach a cat how to follow verbal commands.

“Isn’t that… Akira’s cat?” Goro asks. The white paws strike a chord in him.

“Oh, yeah. I’m looking after him while everybody’s gone. Plus, Mona loooooves sleepovers. Don’t you, Mona?”

She grabs onto the cat’s cheeks like an affectionate, drunk aunt might do to her relatives. The cat hisses, batting her away. Okay, so obviously not a trained cat.

Before Goro can start grappling with cat behaviors, his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Akira.

Akira @ 5:39pm: [image attached]

Akira @ 5:39pm: [image attached]

Akira @ 5:39pm: [image attached]

Akira @ 5:40pm: just a few pictures from today.

Akira @ 5:40pm: wish you were here.

The first picture is of a statue of a Hawaiian leader, the second of the beach, the third of a selfie of Akira lounging in the sand. Goro stops to look at the last one for a little bit longer. He can see the reflection of Akira’s phone in his sunglasses, the bright rays of sun playing off his dark hair, his pale collarbones at the edge of where the photo cuts off.

Goro @ 5:43pm: Make sure you don’t get a sunburn.

Akira @ 5:44pm: don’t worry, makoto made sure everybody wore sunscreen.

Goro @ 5:44pm: Haha, that sounds like her.

Akira @ 5:45pm: when do i get a selfie of you?

Goro @ 5:46pm: I’ll see what I can do.

A pillow comes soaring out of the air, smacking Goro straight on the nose. He drops his phone in his lap, looking up to see Futaba with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Whatcha smiling at?” she asks.

He was smiling? No. That would be—Goro doesn’t grin at his phone just because Akira’s texted him. He’s not a schoolgirl with a crush.

“I was sent a few pictures of Hawaii,” he says. “Seems like they’re having a good time.”

“Hm. Pretty late over there.”

“I suppose it is.”

Now Futaba’s giving him a look as critical as the cat is. She hands him the gaming controller with one hand, stroking the cat’s ears with the other.

“You really like him, don’t you?” she asks.

“Who?”

“Akira, duh.”

Goro’s grip on the controller tightens. Can they start the game damn already? “He’s been a good friend.”

“Well, yeah, but—” She stops, rolling her lips into her mouth. Goro waits for the inevitable—the off-base psych evaluation about him from the teenaged shut-in—and braces himself. “I heard you guys talking in Leblanc a few times. It seemed like… I don’t know, like you like him. And he likes you.”

Goro pauses. He’s not sure he’s ever even seen Futaba hanging around in the cafe before. “You… heard us talking in Leblanc?”

She squirms a little, jostling the cat in her lap in the process. “Yeah. I, uh. I have methods.” She shifts her legs. “That part doesn’t really matter,” she says quickly. “Am I right?”

Unbidden, the intrusive thought that he sure hopes so jumps into mind. The second thought he has is that none of this is Futaba’s business, and it sure is rich listening to theories on his romantic inclinations from someone who essentially lives out of a socially isolated cave. The third thought is how bizarre it is that he’s hanging out with Futaba Sakura of all the goddamn people in the world.

“Like I said, he’s been a good friend,” Goro says stiffly.

Futaba groans. “Fine!” she says, booting the game up. “Don’t tell me. Be all weird and secretive with your feelings.”

Goro can’t hide his scoff. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”

Even in the dim neon light glowing from the screens, Goro can make out Futaba’s reddening ears. “Harsh,” she says. “Okay, you win, Goro Akechi. But I’m on to you. And it’s not like it’s a crime!”

It might as well be. Being friends will all these people Goro suspects to be the Phantom Thieves is one thing, but starting to nurse fuzzy feelings about any of them is a path straight to Nope Town. It would be all so Capulet and Montague that Goro wants to yell at his own feelings to stop focusing on such unattainable targets, unattainable not because Goro thinks there couldn’t be the slightest inkling that Akira might actually return some of Goro’s interest, but because the long-term just isn’t as happy-go-lucky as the short-term. And Goro is notorious for his dedication to long-term thinking.

He knows how all this has to end. Goro feels guilty enough at having to investigate people who’ve been so unreasonably hospitable to him, which is already a humongous no-no of detective work. No personal bias. No emotional involvement to skew the proceedings.

Goro’s phone buzzes again.

Akira @ 5:52pm: I’ll be waiting with bated breath.

Goro allows himself one quick, painless pluck of the sentimental chord in his heart, but doesn’t let himself smile this time, lest Futaba zeroes in on it again like a dentist with a surgical light.

“Yo! Are we gaming or what?”

Goro stuffs his phone away. “We are. Let’s get started.”

\--

Makoto @ 11:18am: Futaba told me you and her have been spending time together while we’re in Hawaii.

Makoto @ 11:18am: Have you been enjoying yourself?

Goro @ 11:20am: Yes, she’s very entertaining.

Makoto @ 11:21am: I’m glad you’re getting along. It’s nice to know she isn’t alone while we’re gone.

Goro @ 11:21am: How is Hawaii?

Makoto @ 11:22am: Really lovely. Definitely worth the visit.

Goro @ 11:22am: I’m happy to hear that.

Makoto @ 11:23am: Hopefully, next time we’ll all be able to go on a trip together. Even if it’s something small.

Goro @ 11:24am: That sounds wonderful.

\--

Futaba offers to hang out again later in the week, but Goro has to turn her down in favor of finishing up a few errands, and it’s not his fault if Futaba thinks errands means “running to the store for groceries” instead of “causing a mental shutdown in Principal Kobayakawa.”

“He’s not trustworthy anymore,” Shido had said, over and over. “He’ll squeal soon if we don’t act fast.”

The _we_ in Shido’s statement had been particularly annoying. As if Shido actually did any of the work involved, or ever even bothered to step foot into the Metaverse to get a glimpse of what Goro had to contend with.

Goro’s patience is worn especially thin when he does finally find Kobayakawa’s Shadow, and he doesn’t want to admit it’s because he doesn’t want to be here. Kobayakawa is a slimeball, sure, and would probably deserve whatever repercussions come his way once Goro’s done here, but it’s still tedious work for what is little more than a small potato on Shido’s stove.

Shadow Kobayakawa sweats and stutters his way through the whole thing, making excuses, making thinly veiled promises pledging his fealty, but Goro’s in no mood. The fact that he could’ve been out being a regular teenager, playing video games and swapping texts with Akira, wears on his mind today. The more glimpses he gets of this typical life that all these other kids his age get to live, the more resentful he’s getting of a man he already loathes enough to use his skull as a urinal.

He gets the job done and gets out.

\--

Goro @ 1:35pm: [image attached]

Goro @ 1:35pm: There you go.

Akira @ 1:39pm: thank god, I nearly forgot what you look like.

Goro @ 1:40pm: Haha, Futaba’s prediction was right.

Akira @ 1:41pm: you look good.

Goro @ 1:43pm: Thank you.

\--

Akira @ 8:14am: on our way to the airport

Akira @ 8:14am: will be back in Japan soon

Akira @ 8:15am: what did we miss?

Goro @ 8:16am: Haha, not much. How was your trip overall?

Akira @ 8:17am: nice. Not sure if it’s gonna be worth the jet lag

Goro @ 8:17am: You’ll definitely all need your sleep.

Akira @ 8:19am: can we hang out afterwards?

Goro @ 8:19am: I’d like that. 

Goro @ 8:19am: Futaba too, I’m sure.

Akira @ 8:20am: i’ll look forward to it.

\--

Goro decides to give them all a bit of time to recuperate and get back on a Japanese timetable before visiting. From everyone’s collective silence for a good twenty-four hours, Goro can only suspect they’re all in a jet lag coma, up until he realizes that the silence might have more to do with the naked horror that comes sidelong with realizing your principal died.

Goro doesn’t feel particularly bad about it, especially when it surfaces that Kobayakawa was en route to a police station to expose Shido and everyone in his circle. Goro is already looking forward to how that conversation with Shido will play out, how many times Shido will drill in that Goro is really pushing it close with deadlines, and just a few more minutes, and Kobayakawa would’ve been the one domino in the set crashing the entire display down.

He does feel bad, however, about whatever everybody must be thinking now that the Phantom Thieves are taking the heat for this crime.

Akira invites him to stop by at Leblanc after school is out to say hello to everyone, which Goro readily agrees to to see how the mood is. Perhaps he’ll surprise Akira with an invitation to the movies, lighten the post-principal-suicide atmosphere a bit. He texts Akira back—when on earth did he become a frequent _texter_ anyway?—that he’ll be there once he’s done catching up on what he’s missed lately at school.

Sojiro’s tending to an empty cafe and flicking through television channels when he arrives. He cocks his head to the stairs when he sees Goro. “They’re all up there.”

“Ah, thank you.” 

He heads upstairs. An outburst yelled into being from the attic startles Goro into stillness halfway up the steps.

“—fucking long are we s’posed to keep this up? It’s been _months_ , and still nothing.”

Nobody could mistake that calm, dulcet voice as anybody’s but Ryuji’s.

A detective’s instinct touches Goro, as if with a ticklish feather. He stops, crouching as close to the landing as he can without revealing himself. Something about this feels… almost like he’s right on the precipice of something. If this is truly the moment one of them says something that damns them as the Phantom Thieves—

“Calm down, Ryuji.”

“I’m serious!” Ryuji yells back. “We’re not getting squat outta him. He obviously knows a ton of shit he isn’t telling us, and he isn’t gonna.”

Goro feels his pulse start to thump in his ears. They’re not—they couldn’t be, could they?

“You don’t know that.” It’s Makoto’s voice this time, significantly quieter than Ryuji’s. “If he’s come to trust us, we may just need to give him time.”

“How much effin’ longer? We don’t got forever here and it’s been _months_. This is starting to feel like a huge waste of time.”

“I agree with Makoto,” Akira says. His voice isn’t as soft as it usually is. “I know we can get Goro to trust us.”

Goro’s name hitting the air is like abruptly stepping out into an icy wind, the force of it like a slap. Clammy understanding grabs him with wet hands. They’re talking about _him_. They’re talking about squeezing information out of him. They’re—they’re—this entire time—

“Seriously, man?” Ryuji shouts. “We know he can hear Morgana, and that’s suspicious as hell all on its own. Now we’re just sitting on our asses playing buddy-buddy with the guy!”

“Even if we have wasted our time this far,” Yusuke adds in, “then I believe it would be a bigger waste to not see this through and give up now.”

“But…” Ann now, hesitantly. “...what if there’s just too much going on that we can’t see? Maybe Goro _can’t_ tell us what he knows.”

“Are you implying there are others?” Yusuke asks.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Ann might be right,” Makoto says. “It’d be too foolish to assume we’re aware of all the puzzle pieces at play here. And Goro’s behavior… sometimes it feels like there’s more to this that what we can see.”

“Then there’s gotta be another way to find out!” Ryuji insists. “Pretending to be this loser’s BFF is seriously getting on my nerves, and you guys gotta be with me on that.”

Goro can’t hear anymore—he needs to get out and _away_ before the bile rises to his throat in a monsoon of contradictory emotions. He stumbles back down the steps, uncaring of the creaks in the wood, and hurtles toward the door, ignoring Sojiro’s raised eyebrow as he runs out as if chased.

He steadies himself on his knees when he’s outside, breathing heavy in his chest. His insides are burning, seething—he’ll combust any moment, surely.

All this time—all this _fucking_ time, Goro was a pawn in their sick little scheme? No, no— _no_ —Goro is the one who was going to sweep the rug out from underneath them, not the other way around. This can’t be happening. All this time, they didn’t even want him around? Every invitation, every smile, every word of kindness—all of it was in the name of their greater good, their quest for all-consuming, righteous justice?

He should’ve known. He should’ve trusted his instincts that very first day and stayed away and played his own game, with his rules, the one where _they’re_ the fools. He’s gone against every detective instinct he’s ever grown into and now he’s paying the price.

A housewife, in the middle of gossiping with a friend, passes by Goro, reminding him of where he is and what he’s doing. He can’t be here. Not by this cafe, not in this city. He needs to go.

He runs all the way home, and doesn’t stop until he’s locked himself inside.

\--

At first, it’s just anger. Goro feels like little more than a ball of fulminous fury, fury that has tails and horns, fury that longs to break things. It would make him little more than a common hooligan, but right now, there’s appeal to that sort of undignified occupation.

The anger shifts soon enough. It goes from rage directed at the Phantom Thieves to rage directed at Goro himself, for being blind enough to be so foolishly deceived, for being so gullible as to believe such unconditional friendship would ever be so easily handed to him. Then it becomes disappointment, and finally, a shameful sadness.

How could he let himself be so bamboozled? Is he really that hungry for affection and companionship that Goro allowed the wool to be pulled over his eyes? Has he really been such a teenage Napoleon in his quest to grab everyone’s praise and love? He’s an idiot, and Akira’s an idiot, and he hates all of them, but especially Akira.

It’s fine. _It’s fine_. Goro blinks away the infernal wetness dotting his eyes. He hasn’t lost the upper-hand yet. He’ll just call up Shido and tell him he has a good idea who the Phantom Thieves are and then Shido will send limousines to run over them all. Or maybe he’ll just lie in wait for them in the Metaverse and let Loki handle them.

He squeezes his eyes shut. No, no—he can’t let his emotions get the best of him now. To act on an impulse of savagery would be a mistake, no matter how much he would relish lashing out now. Perhaps just imagining it will do for the present, or—or smashing a few plates against a brick wall.

He just can’t believe this. What other parts of his life is he completely in the dark about? Has Shido known about his plan all along and is just stringing him along too? Is everything in Goro’s existence little more than a transparent joke?

There were so many signs. His gut had been telling him all along how suspicious it all was. No one just reaches out like that, unprompted, for nothing but the promise of friendship. Everybody always wants something in return for kindness, especially from Goro. He was deaf, willfully deaf to all the hints that something was amiss, and even after figuring out they were obviously the Phantom Thieves—low-life criminals!—Goro _still_ overrode his own instinct. He’s a sorry detective if there ever was one.

Like Ryuji—god, Ryuji, who sometimes glared at Goro with too much acid to be reasonable. Or Makoto! Who Goro had gone out of his way to antagonize in the past. Or Ann, or Yusuke, or Futaba, none of whom had any reason to be friendly to him. They were all under orders. Orders filed by Akira. Akira, who showed Goro how to make curry, who asked Goro to text him selfies, who was close enough to kiss the night they all went for pancakes—

—Akira, whose text message is chirping in on his phone now. Goro snatches his phone up.

Akira @ 8:05pm: hey you okay? did something come up?

A few possible responses well up in Goro like a volcano pushing up to the surface, including but not limited to: fuck off, how dare you, and did this little game of yours get you off every night?

He swallows them back like someone might bitter medicine.

Goro @ 8:06pm: I wasn’t feeling all too well. My apologies for not saying so.

Akira @ 8:06pm: do you need anything?

Akira @ 8:06pm: I could stop by if you’re not feeling good.

The urge to send expletives Akira’s way rears up once more, like the head of a mad monster. He quells it before it reaches his fingertips.

Goro @ 8:08pm: That’s quite all right. I’m planning on going to bed early tonight.

Akira @ 8:09pm: okay. text me tomorrow?

Goro doesn’t answer, too occupied with the daydream of throwing his phone across the room and watching the screen shatter. He shuts it off instead, not interested in the barrage of texts that might come in at some point from that entire group of con-artists, and curls up on his sofa.

\--

He turns his phone back on in the morning before he heads to the police station. Ideally, he would’ve left it off for a few weeks, if not indefinitely, but by eight a.m., Shido’s already called twice, and by ten, Sae’s left a voicemail detailing the most recent mental shutdown victims, and by noon, the news station has called confirming tomorrow’s TV appearance, all of it a glaring reminder that Goro is not the average teenager with average teenager responsibilities.

Akira could probably turn off his phone for a month and only miss out on idiotic Phantom Thief text messages. No one cares about him beyond their moronic inflated justice gang. No one actually cares about him as a person. No one _cares_ , least of all Goro.

By the afternoon, Goro gets another call. His mind is so scattered, as if it’s been pushed underwater, that he picks up without checking who it is who’s called him.

What a rookie fucking mistake.

“Akechi speaking.”

“Goro?”

It’s Akira. Goro feels all of his veins collectively turn to ice. Would hanging up now send too strong of a message?

“Oh, hello.”

“Hey. Are you feeling any better since yesterday?”

Oh, fuck him for sounding sincere. Goro’s fingers tighten on his phone. In his mind’s eye, the sheer strength of his hand crushes it, reducing it and their conversation to little more than shards. He doesn’t want to be talking to Akira, not now, not later, now until he’s worked out how to get back at him and all his horrible friends in some cruel, malevolent way.

“I am, thank you for asking,” he says, keeping his voice perfectly pleasant, even, smooth around the edges. “It must’ve been a bad reaction to something I ate.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I am,” Goro says again. “I apologize, but I really must get back to my work. I appreciate you checking in, though.”

“Sure.”

That should be the end of it all, surely. There’s no need to press Goro for details on his well-being, or even bothering to care if he’s dying of the Black Death at this very moment. 

It’s not the end of it, though. Akira keeps checking in, leaving text messages, asking when Goro’s free to hang out. He’s not the only one either: Makoto emails him asking if he’d like to study together, and Ann texts him inviting him out to the movies, and Yusuke asks if he’s up for an afternoon at the park. If all the attention was confusing before, it’s grating now, not to mention exhausting. Every time a plea to hang out comes chiming into Goro’s phone, it’s just another reminder that none of this is real, that none of them actually _like_ Goro, that they won’t leave him alone. He feels haunted, trapped by ghosts of friendships that never existed.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them. He’s going to take such joy framing them for Okumura’s murder. He’s going to drag them to court, and he’s going to get them all life in prison, and he’s going to send them all to separate jails so they can never maintain their precious little friendships, and that’ll teach them. That’ll be Goro’s revenge—part one, anyway.

\--

The rest of Goro’s week is a blur. Of all the emails Goro reads, all the files, he doesn’t manage to retain a single word, his mind too much of a too-loud carnival to focus. There’s also a very real, very tangible pain in the core of his chest, like he’s been bruised somewhere within, that isn’t going away.

He ignores all communication that comes in from the Grifters Formerly Known As Goro’s Friends. Part of him—the part Ryuji obviously rubbed off on—wants to give in to his most immature urges and rename all of them horrible things in his phone, or send them all vulgar spam under the pretense of being hacked, or delete all of their contacts in one fell swoop. If they all can’t wait to cut Goro out of their lives, he’s happy to make it easier for him.

Akira’s the one who’s the most persistent. He can’t seem to take a hint; Goro hasn’t responded to any of his voicemails or texts the last few days, and still he soldiers on, trying to check in, ask how Goro’s doing. Goro would be doing better if everyone would just leave him alone.

He gives up on getting anything productive done at work a few hours after lunch on Friday, during which he pointedly refuses to eat anything and doesn’t let himself think about Leblanc curry in tupperware. The lure of the weekend is particularly strong today, even if Goro’s weekends aren’t quite like other people’s weekends. He still has to catch up on missed schoolwork, and slip into Palaces here and there, and regularly debrief with Shido, and find the time to sleep and eat in between all that. If nothing else, though, at least the weekend will bring with it privacy. And the ability to lock himself in his apartment and feel sorry for himself and angry at the world in equal measures.

He leaves earlier than intended when he realizes that his brain is starting to digest itself and leaving very little coherent thought behind, at which point he feigns a bad migraine and packs up to leave. He’ll go home and sleep it off until he feels better. Or read, and escape into a happier, nicer fictional world than the universe he’s living in. Or go to Mementos and take out his anger somewhere conveniently untraceable.

He slips past the desks and the ringing phones and the clean station lobby, itching to drop his mask and just yell at a wall for thirty minutes. He can’t get away from the neighborly smiles and small talk with his colleagues fast enough today. The door—and a freezer full of almost passable comfort desserts—is calling his name.

It takes him a moment to recognize the figure standing outside the station once Goro heads outside. Goro’s instinct freezes him, but before he can retreat and hurry back inside, Akira—of fucking course Akira is here—looks up from where he’s fiddling with his phone.

He smiles. It does horrible, pretzel-like things to Goro’s insides. “Hey,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket.

Fuck him. Fuck him for showing up, for not giving up when Goro ignores his calls and texts, fuck him for doing any of this to Goro in the first place.

“Akira,” Goro says. He tightens his grip on his briefcase’s handle and hopes it goes unnoticed. “What a surprise.”

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” Akira says. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“I sort of did. You weren’t answering any of my messages.”

Goro switches the briefcase to the other hand, giving all his fingers the chance to squeeze the daylights out of something. He throws out a honeyed laugh.

“If you missed me that badly, you can always watch me on TV,” he says. It’s a joke, but it also isn’t. He doesn’t owe Akira any more of his time, not after what he found out. After what Akira and all his stupid ragtag friends did.

Akira takes a step closer. Goro fights the urge to take a step back.

“Come with me to get dinner?” he asks. “We could catch up.”

Goro pushes his lips together to keep from saying something he’ll regret later. Pull it back, he tells himself. Let it simmer under the surface. Don’t let it boil over.

“Perhaps another time,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I have too much work to—”

“Please,” Akira interrupts. “Just one dinner?”

The boiling builds up regardless. He’s so stubborn, so used to being agreed with.

Maybe if he punches Akira in the face he’ll stop trying so hard to go out to dinner with him. That might raise some questions, though.

Goro turns away. He can’t look Akira straight in the eye; behind those glasses, he looks almost hopeful. For what? To keep up this charade? Can’t let Goro slip away yet without squeezing information out of him?

“Fine,” Goro says. He can’t be too hostile, not yet. He just has to keep reminding himself that he has these motherfuckers by the balls, that they don’t know that he knows. He can still turn their insidious little plan on its head, he just has to keep his cool. “But it’ll have to be quick.”

\--

Keeping his animosity at bay is easier in theory than it is in execution. Goro can’t help it; he looks at Akira and feels a frothing, bubbling, rabid hatred claw up his chest. Who the fuck does he think he is, making someone think they’re liked, loved, enjoyable to be around, all for personal gain? To think that Goro believed Shido to be monstrous. Shido at least had the common decency to be an asshole to Goro’s face.

“You doing all right?” Akira asks after they’ve taken their seats. It’s loud in the Diner today, which may lend itself to most of Goro’s under-the-breath mutterings being drowned out. “You look stressed.”

I hate you, Goro thinks with perfect clarity. “I’ve certainly been having a harder time at work than usual.” He holds Akira’s gaze. “The Phantom Thieves case has begun to take up a lot of my time. It’s certainly grown very serious.”

“Any leads?”

I really, _really_ hate you, Goro thinks. “A few,” he says. “What about you, Akira? If you had to guess—who would you say are the Phantom Thieves?”

“I’ve honestly never thought about it before.”

“Mm.” Sure he hasn’t. “Shame.”

The waitress comes by before Goro can say anything else. If Akira’s noticed a certain frosty edge to Goro’s demeanor, he doesn’t comment on it.

Silence hangs over their table after the waitress takes their orders. All the other diners seem to be having a grand old time, and then there’s Goro, pretending he isn’t noticing the way Akira keeps staring at him, peering at him, as if trying to draw conclusions as to what’s wrong just by studying Goro’s distant body language. Well, he’s not the expert on deductions, _Goro is_.

He can tell how uncomfortable Akira is getting by his cold front just by the way his fingers are tapping the tabletop, jittery and uneasy. Goro’s torn between wanting Akira to feel like he’s done something horribly wrong and not wanting Akira to suspect a thing about Goro’s newfound knowledge about their trickery. It’s a relief when the waitress brings their food out and Goro can occupy his mouth with something other than accidentally spewing venomous opinions across the table.

“Ann thought we could go to Dome Town this weekend,” Akira says when Goro makes no effort to keep the conversation going. “Just something fun for all of us to do. Do you have time?”

Goro chews. And chews. And focuses hard on chewing.

“I’m afraid I have a bit too much going on at the moment,” he says, as diplomatically as possible. “But thank you anyway.”

“We could always postpone.”

It’s impossible; the geyser of Goro’s emotions is getting too hot, too angry. He’s supposed to be this charming little TV personality, this approachable but formidable detective, this perfectly crafted image Shido’s made for him, but he can’t, not right now. He drops his fork with a clatter.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says.

Akira looks up from his plate, a question mark written on his expression.

“Pretending to be nice to me. Pretending to care.”

The expression changes. Goro can see the panicked swallow work its way through Akira's throat.

“Goro—”

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped altogether,” Goro keeps going. He crosses his arms, needing desperately to hold onto himself. “There’s no need to keep up the lie anymore.”

His hands are shaking a little, but he covers it up with his tight grip until the blood barely makes it past his forearm. Numb is substantially better than shaky.

Akira’s looking at him with stunned silence. Even with as much as Goro knows, even with it all spread out before him, it still stings to see Akira without a single explanation, a single excuse to even bother giving him. 

“Goro,” he says again. “What are you talking about?”

The fact that he’s playing dumb only seeks to enrage Goro further. “I know you have a purpose here,” he says. “I know you’re all intending to squeeze information about the Phantom Thieves out of me.” He sits up straight, ready to deliver the coup de grace. “Well, you can have it. Readily. Would you like to know who the Phantom Thieves are? Because I have certainly come to a conclusion.”

Akira’s gone slightly ashen. “Goro, whatever you think—whatever you heard. I don’t think that—”

Goro ignores him. His own voice sounds like a stranger’s as it leaves his mouth: frosty, acidic, yet carefully distant. “And I can tell you that once I present my evidence to my superiors, they’ll proceed to try these Thieves to the fullest extent of the law. True law, _real_ law, law that doesn’t bend or fit into someone’s neat mold of what their own personal missions of justice require.”

Akira leans across the table to grab Goro’s wrist. Goro jerks it back as if burned. “Goro,” he tries, hand still fluttering where Goro’s was a moment ago. “You don’t get it.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Even in that pathetically desperate tone, Goro still takes it the wrong way. Anything that isn’t begging for forgiveness would’ve been the wrong thing to say, though, so Goro can’t fault Akira for picking one of millions of bad responses.

He gets to his feet. “Oh, I believe I understand everything perfectly. As a matter of fact, for the first time in a while, it’s all crystal clear.”

He risks a glance at Akira’s face. The sight of his pained eyes doesn’t bring Goro as much pleasure as he had anticipated popping the bubble of their plan would bring him. He looks away again.

“Thank you for the illuminating conversation as always, Akira-kun,” Goro says. “I should be going.”

He starts walking away. Without meaning to, he looks over his shoulder after a few paces, but Akira isn’t looking, isn’t even moving.

Akira doesn’t follow him out of the Diner either, even if Goro will deny lingering to find out. The implications from his inaction are glaringly obvious, and it bothers Goro more than it has any right to.

\--

The radio silence that comes to Goro’s phone after his conversation with Akira at the Diner speaks volumes. From a constant stream of consciousness that seemed to perpetually spam Goro’s inbox, he goes to receiving absolutely zero texts essentially overnight. The part of him that’s relieved to be off of that demonic group chat is only slightly at war with the part that finds the complete lack of communication unnerving. A friendship whiplash, so to say.

Not that there was ever much of a friendship from any of them to begin with. It was a facade, a farce, and Goro needs to go back to daydreaming about violent vase throwing.

So Akira must’ve told all of them that they’d been found out. Goro tries to imagine their shocked faces as a comfort. Perhaps Ryuji broke something; it would be something he would do. Goro can’t stand that he knows that, that he knows anything about any of them, that he let himself get caught up in their little web. But if they’re planning yet another scheme, Goro’s not going to let it happen. Goro’s going to get there first.

He just doesn’t quite know how yet.

\--

“I’m going to need you to work faster,” says Shido on the other line. “In case you haven’t already realized, this is a time-sensitive situation. If I can’t get you to take care of the Phantom Thieves, I’ll just have to hire someone else.”

Goro pushes his lips together to keep from spitting out something baleful as his reply. He skirts past an older man with a cane, flattening himself against a pillar. The train station is packed this morning, sticky in its overcrowded heat, and Shido’s threats aren’t improving Goro’s general mood.

Not helping matters, clearly, is the most obvious mood damper he’s been saddled with as of late.

“I’m the best person for the job,” Goro reminds him. “Actually, I’m the only one. To start over now with a new plan would mean risking everything.”

Shido’s silent on his end of the call.

“You just need to trust me, Shido-san.”

If he trusted himself, it’d be even better. He can’t afford to have Shido demote him from this case, stick him to dealing with Mementos work like a coal miner restrained to his cave, not when he’d lose everything he’s worked for thus far.

His plan has crumbled a bit since its inception, though. It used to be crisp, clear-cut, like an actor following stage directions, but now everything is different, even if it shouldn’t be, because Goro’s feelings about the Phantom Thieves have become such a convoluted mess it’s a miracle he’s not polluting the air with all his emotional baggage.

It should be simple. Arrest all of them, as soon as possible, with or without true justice to make sure all is fair. Nothing’s fair anymore, not since their little hoax on Goro.

“Fine,” Shido snaps. “But my patience isn’t limited. Do you realize that?”

A train whooshes by, dragging warm air with it that blasts Goro’s hair out of place. He looks down the dark tracks, shuffling strands back into place, when he sees—

Fuck.

“Do you realize that?” Shido is saying again, more sharply this time.

“I’m afraid I need to go,” Goro says quickly. “I’ll report back in with you later, Shido-san.”

He hangs up without waiting for a reply. Isn’t Tokyo supposed to be a big city? How is it that he so easily runs into the people he doesn’t want to see, that out of millions of tourists and inhabitants, _Ann and Makoto_ just happen to be here, adjusting the straps on their backpacks as they chat. They’re too far away for Goro to overhear anything, not that he cares, not that it matters—

Fucking _fuck_. Makoto’s noticed him, eyes landing directly on him across the crowded track.

Time to run. Goro doesn’t take delight in sprinting anywhere, not in public when he’s supposed to maintain a modicum of decorum, and certainly not full of panic, but it feels like his only option right now, fight-or-flight mode activated so quickly that he barely has time to inhale before he’s turning around and racing for an escape. He shouldn’t be the one to go, to _hide_ , but the instinct attacks him before he can stand his ground. It’s just too much, looking at them, at _any_ of them, knowing that none of them can stand him, that they all pretended to like him for no reason other than to exploit him for the sake of their group of miscreants. Even if they do have apologies—and Goro knows they don’t—he doesn’t particularly want to hear them.

He stops running only once he’s run out of air, pressing himself against a pillar and gulping down deep breaths. He peers around the corner to make sure he wasn’t followed, but it doesn’t look like he was.

Not that they would have followed. Not that Goro expected them to.

\--

The talk with Shido, despite Goro’s best efforts, isn’t delayed for too long. 

It’s time to get rid of Okumura. Everything’s in place except for the Phantom Thieves, who just need to walk into the trap the Phansite poll and Okumura’s Palace has laid out for them. And when they do, Goro will be waiting for them, with sweet revenge in his pocket like a grenade to be launched at somebody’s unsuspecting back.

“Your window of opportunity will be incredibly small,” Shido tells him, not for the first time. “And you can’t be found out.”

Goro dreams of hurtling that letter opener into Shido’s throat as talks. Blah, blah blah, there’s lot of pressure on him, blah, blah, blah, he better not screw this up, blah, blah, blah, everything is on the line here. Goro knows. He knows better than Shido; he’s the one who has to do the work firsthand. He won’t be caught. He’ll lie in wait like he always does, like a snake slithering through a garden.

The ride home from Shido’s office gives him too much time to think. He’s been going the long way home ever since he nearly ran into Makoto and Ann at the station, happy to lengthen his commute and take trains all over Tokyo if it means he won’t have to worry about accidentally smacking into any of those traitors.

It’s finally getting cooler outside, which is both a relief from the heat and a reminder that a cold, lonely winter is on the horizon. Goro leans his head against the train window, ignoring the way his entire skull rattles with the train’s speed. He just wants to go home and sleep. It’s all he’s wanted to do lately, but what can he say? He’s been tired. He’s a busy guy. He has a lot of residual anger exhausting him and nowhere to put it. He’s like an engine burning coal of fury, except that he’s creating nothing but smoke that’s only managing to choke himself.

It’s been a week now since he confronted Akira in Shibuya, and subsequently, a week since he heard a thing from any of the Phantom Thieves. He’s been discarded and disposed of, and all of them wiped their hands clean in record time. It’s proof, really, that Goro never meant anything to any of them. And it’s not like he was expecting apology fruit baskets, but—

The train doors opening at his stop cut off his pity party before it takes form. He gets up, gathers his briefcase, and starts taking mental stock of what’s in his fridge for dinner tonight. Maybe he’ll eat that one bell pepper he has in there. Or maybe he’ll order takeout. Or maybe he’ll just skip dinner and take a long nap.

He’s still undecided twenty minutes later, at which point he’s made it home and taken off his tie and found a comfortable spot on the couch.

A familiar, horrifying buzz in Goro’s pocket stutters his breathing to a halt. None of them would dare.

He’s proven wrong when he pulls his phone out and sees Akira’s name on his screen. Looking at it feels like a thunder cloud clapping right above his head.

Akira @ 7:09pm: can we talk?

Akira @ 7:10pm: please

No. _No_. They cannot, and _will not_ talk. Goro steadfastly ignores the messages.

It might’ve been a mistake, because the next moment, a phone call comes in. Goro stares at it, feels it vibrate in his hands, willing it to go away. He can’t do this. He won’t do this, and Akira certainly doesn’t get to decide that after months of stone-faced betrayal, he’s worthy of Goro’s time. He’s _not_. Just because he and his conniving little Thieves have had a pow-wow and are now trying to salvage their truly unsalvageable mistake by attempting to weasel their way back into Goro’s good graces, doesn’t mean that Goro has any interest in listening to what they have to say.

The phone rings and rings, taunting Goro. The silence that falls when the call is over is oddly unsettling. Goro swipes a hesitant thumb over the screen, as if waiting for the next attempt.

The sharp knock on Goro’s door shoots him into alertness. He sits up, rigid, and stuffs his phone under a couch pillow, easing his way toward the door. He can guess who’s on the other side, but he still checks the peephole regardless. An achingly familiar mop of black hair stretches through the tiny fisheye glass.

Akira’s head tilts up, and he glances at the peephole. Goro’s heartbeat stammers. Even knowing he’s unseen isn’t enough to keep him from taking a step back, hoping his feet aren’t casting a shadow under the door. Akira knocks again, louder this time.

Goro waits a few moments before returning to the peephole. If he’s lucky, Akira will just leave, assume him to not be home, go away out of impatience or boredom. He’s not, though—naturally—because Akira’s begun to comfortably lean against the wall, as if he’s planning on waiting it out until Goro comes home.

He could call the police. It would be easy, too—tell them that someone’s trespassing on his property. An infraction like that wouldn’t look good on the record of someone previously arrested, and perhaps that would get rid of Akira—and his pesky Phantom Thief goons—for good.

Goro deliberates. Then he throws the door open.

“If you don’t leave,” he warns as Akira hurries to stand up straight, eyes wide, “I’ll call the police and have them arrest you, which isn’t something I believe you’re willing to risk given the current state of your record.”

“I just want to talk,” Akira says. “It won’t take long.”

Goro doesn’t care if it’s little more than a ten-second monologue. He isn’t interested.

“No, thank you,” he says. He puts his TV voice on, polite but overly sugared, and ignores the dismay in Akira’s expression. “I’d like you to leave now.”

Goro’s fingers have turned white against the door, his grip so tight it’s bordering on painful. He goes to close it, but Akira’s hand shoots out, keeping it open.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, as if it’s a Hail Mary. “We all are, but me especially.”

Goro knows it’s just another trick. It’s just another device. He works his lips into his mouth to keep anything unwanted from escaping, because despite all of Goro’s logic and reason and better judgment, the apology is somehow working on him, a medicine to a sickness he didn’t realize existed. He takes a breath in through his nose. To forgive them so quickly would be foolish, and Goro has no intention of being fooled twice.

“What about?” he asks.

Akira falters for a moment. “Deceiving you,” is what he decides on. “It wasn’t the right way to go about things.”

“And what would’ve been?”

It’s Akira’s turn to slowly breathe in. He doesn’t seem to have rehearsed his words before coming here today. As it is, Akira’s never been the wordiest, but still, here he is. Trying to explain.

Or continue to lie, Goro reminds himself.

“To be honest with you from the get go,” Akira finally says, “and ask you when you learned about the Metaverse.”

Goro’s blood seems to freeze over. Akira’s eyes, glancing up to meet his, have gone sharper, full of more intent. Goro feels as if he’s suspended in the air in front of him, on full display, caught completely unawares. He tries to wrestle that shock back in before it has a chance to explode outward, just like he’s taught himself to do with every phone call he’s ever had with Shido, or every time he goes on TV and has to be the prim, polite Detective Goro Akechi, media sensation across the nation.

He straightens up. When he speaks, it’s with a voice that’s almost composed. “Excuse me?”

“That day we all met you at the station,” Akira explains. “Morgana realized you could hear him speaking.”

He’s still suspended, but even higher now than before, feet kicking underneath him.

“What?”

“My cat,” Akira says. “He came from the Metaverse. You can only hear him talk if you’ve been there.” Akira takes a hesitant step forward, and Goro’s too lost in his own nightmare to stop him. “We just wanted to know what you knew. What you were doing in the Metaverse, and if you were a threat to us.”

Goro spies a hint of the upper-hand waving in his direction in his periphery. “A threat,” he says. “Because you’re the Phantom Thieves.”

Akira’s eye contact doesn’t waver. “We are.”

Well—okay. Goro wasn’t expecting that level of honesty. It actually takes the upper-hand away from him, to a certain degree, because that intense look in Akira’s eyes almost makes it seem like he _wants_ Goro to know, but that’s absurd, why on earth would he—

“Why—why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s fair,” Akira says. He takes another step forward, close enough to nearly pass over the threshold, almost past the doorway. “I’ll tell you everything I know if you tell me everything you know.” He reaches out, tentative, and his hand very nearly touches the bottom of Goro’s chin before hovering, indecisive, nearby. “We just wanted you to trust us, and it didn’t even occur to me to trust you first.”

His words sound sincere, frustratingly soft, like a contrite man happy to repent, to make things right, to sew up the wounds left behind. Goro’s still numb from the blow of knowing the Phantom Thieves knew of his underground life in the Metaverse just like he knew of theirs.

Maybe that’s why Akira’s here, in an attempt to throw Goro off his game, to save his own hide and that of his teammates once and for all. Goro can’t trust him, not yet, not when _all_ of this, all of Goro’s plans, have been fiercely dependent on the Phantom Thieves’ downfall.

“So you decided that pretending to be my friend would be the best way to wring information out of me,” Goro says. “And now that you’ve failed in that regard, you’ve come here begging for the answers I didn’t give you.”

Akira shakes his head. “No. I won’t beg you. But I would like to know?”

No, no, no, _no_. Goro can’t tell him anything. The more he shares, the less sturdy his plan is, the less strength his scheme has. He’s so close to the finish line, to getting what he deserves out of Shido after years of suffering and planning and hoping and preparing.

“Can I at least come in?”

That feels like a bad idea. Like an extraordinarily bad idea.

“Fine,” Goro says, stepping aside.

He shuts the door behind Akira as he takes a few apprehensive steps inside, as if he’s expecting Goro to abruptly change his mind and throw him out on his hide. Which, honestly, would be the intelligent thing to do. As it seems, Goro’s intelligence has taken a lunch break.

Akira turns into the living room, then lingers uncertainly by the couch. The ease and comfort he showed in Goro’s apartment before has deserted him now, replaced with the acute awareness that his welcome has been repealed. Goro leads by example and sits down on the edge of his armchair. Akira watches him, cataloguing his body language and the tight attempt at casualness therein, before eventually following suit and sitting on the couch. Something about their positions, the tension, the strange setup, it almost makes Goro feel like he’s back on set in the middle of an interview. The phony smiles are missing, though.

Silence stretches between them, so thick Goro can hear every careful inhale of breath Akira takes.

“I really am sorry,” Akira says eventually. “You have to know—it might’ve started as one thing, but it wasn’t like that for me.”

“…pardon?”

“Everybody started talking to you because I asked them to, but I—” He stops again. Goro can see his shoulders tighten even at a distance. “I liked being your friend. I liked getting to know you. It wasn’t a lie, not from me. And I know it wasn't for the others either.”

Goro tries not to let the hot bubbling under his skin foam outwards. He’s apprehended enough criminals to know when someone’s lying, and Akira seems sincere, earnest, shakingly honest, but then again, he’s managed to pull the wool over Goro’s eyes before. If he’s Goro’s blind spot, he can’t let himself get swept up in another deception. He shouldn’t even dare look.

Despite himself, curiosity tugs at him. A nagging hope that Akira’s telling the truth.

“If I hadn’t made you suspicious of me that day at the TV station,” Goro asks, “then would you have still talked to me? Bothered with me at all?”

Something that might be a huff of laughter escapes Akira’s throat. He looks out of his element, like someone who isn’t used to giving voice to thoughts like these. “I don’t think I would’ve had the confidence,” he admits. “I would’ve thought you were... too cool for me.”

Now it’s Goro’s turn to huff. “Too cool?”

“Yeah. You don’t think a teenage detective who every girl fawns over is cool?”

Goro’s getting the distinct impression he’s being flattered. He’s just not sure if it’s being done in an attempt to get off the hook. Goro has every intention to keep him on the hook, possibly even light a small fire underneath him.

Besides. The flattery isn’t really meant for him, not the real him.

Goro rubs his forehead, feeling a headache start to throb its way in. “That’s just—someone who was invented for the public,” he says. “It isn’t who I really am.”

“I know,” Akira says. It gets Goro to look up. “For the record, I think the real you is cool too.”

He’s not sure when it happened, but Akira’s come closer, scooted to the edge of his seat. He reaches out with renewed certainty, putting his hand on Goro’s knee. Goro’s leg twitches under the touch, but doesn’t move away just yet. His mouth dries up. The eyes Akira turn on him are all too soulful, uncomfortably so.

“Goro,” he says. Even that—just that way he says Goro’s name—it’s infuriating. Goro’s skin is tingling. “I really am sorry. But I don’t think I was the only one lying.” He pitches his voice a little lower, a little softer. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know so long as you tell me too.”

Goro feels his truth sitting on his tongue like chewing gum, like something he’s spent enough time with and now desperately needs to spit out. It’s starting to taste foul.

He looks up at Akira, at those gunmetal eyes, gone soft just for Goro. If this is another scheme, it’s horribly flawed given that Akira’s putting all his own treasured secrets out on the table for Goro to feast upon. If that’s a bluff, Goro’s all too happy to call it.

“You go first,” he says.

It doesn’t deter Akira. He nods, steeling himself for the story. “Okay,” he says. “But, um—there’s something I need to do before I start.”

Goro makes an inquisitive noise. Akira’s still looking at him with those same fervid eyes, like someone about to dive headfirst off a cliff. It isn’t until Akira’s moved his hand from Goro’s knee to his cheek and his mouth has nudged against Goro’s that Goro realizes he might be the cliff in this case.

It’s a short kiss, but an effective one nonetheless, if the intended effect is to short-circuit Goro’s brain. He feels frozen, completely catatonic in the face of this sudden, intense affection, but before he can properly respond, let alone figure out how he should be responding, Akira’s pulling away. The cold absence of his lips makes it abundantly clear just what Goro’s reaction should have been.

Goro can feel the air in front of him get thinner as Akira shakily breathes in, and then he puts space between them once more, space Goro has absolutely no use for.

“Okay,” Akira says. He sounds a tad winded. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

\--

The story is long. Akira doesn’t leave out any details, starting with his first day in Shibuya and going all the way up to Kobayakawa’s death. His story is as bizarre as Goro’s, which is the only way Goro knows it to be true. If he hadn’t lived it himself, he’d have trouble believing the world inside a person’s heart, navigable only via a smartphone app.

He goes through everything. How he ended up in Kamoshida’s palace by accident, how Ann and Ryuji ended up dragged in as well. How they then found out about Mementos, and from there, Madarame, and how all of it snowballed from there.

There are gaps in his story, though. Gaps about an unseen man in a black mask, gaps about the mental shutdowns, gaps that Goro knows only he could fill in.

The dread comes in like the tide once Goro realizes this will be the end of it. If he tells Akira everything, he’ll want nothing to do with Goro anymore. Whatever he suspected of him, Goro doubts it went as far as him being responsible for the mental shutdowns that, by extension, murdered a fair few people, and that he’s doing all this at the bidding of a powerful politician with an agenda.

The appealing prospect of lying prods Goro in the stomach, where waves have begun to crash. He could make up a story—something about how he knows nothing concrete about the Metaverse or the man in the black mask, how he’s even more clueless about it all than Akira. He could tell the fib convincingly enough.

When he’s done, Akira turns expectant eyes on him. Eyes that Goro can’t look into for too long without feeling nausea well up in his throat.

His truth sits heavy on his shoulders, like a backpack of guilt. Would it hurt to let go of it all? Underneath all that weight is the brunt of his own future, of the plan he’s been fine-tuning for ages, of the revenge he’s been nursing against Shido for years, long before he even knew the face and name of the father he resented. To give that up would be to lose his purpose, the very goal he’s been on the road towards for years.

Would losing Akira instead be a sacrifice he’s willing to perform? Would turning a cold shoulder to all those who had deceived him make him happy in the long run?

“I can’t tell you anything,” Goro admits. He meant to keep his voice level, but it comes out strained, frayed.

Akira’s expression tightens, if only momentarily. “Why not?”

“It’s too complicated.” The memory of their short-lived kiss sneaks up on Goro like an intruder. “You’ll despise me.”

Understanding touches Akira’s face. The sight of it is almost aggravating; Akira doesn’t understand, not really. He probably never well. The pity will come soon, and once it’s there, Akira won’t be able to pull it back again.

“Let me decide that,” Akira says gently. “Please, Goro?”

Goro rubs at his eyebrow. The accidental scratch of his fingernail against the end of his temple is a pain he gladly welcomes as a distraction for the time being. If he tells—it’s not like Akira could run off to the police or the press. He has no proof, and no one would believe a kid with a criminal record and a teenage need for revolution if he started spouting accusations against Japan’s detective sweetheart. It would be easy to talk, with little to no consequences.

He looks at Akira. Like a dam breaking, Goro’s mouth overflows, and the secrets come pouring out.

“It’s me,” he says. “I’m the one causing the mental shutdowns. I’m following orders from a powerful man who recruited me to get my help using the Metaverse for personal gain. He wants me to take down the Phantom Thieves, and I’ve been doing his bidding because I intend to take him down too when the time is right.”

It’s out. It’s all out. It’s out of his mouth and he can’t take it back. In the wake of all those secrets, Goro’s breath refuses to follow. He holds it.

“And no matter what you say, I’m going to follow through with my plan,” Goro says. His lungs feels as if they’re seizing up. “I’m going to do what it takes to get rid of him for good.”

That should be enough, really, but the urge to keep talking claws at him, like an itch needing to be scratched. Goro continues.

“He’s used me the entire time he’s known me. He’s made my life miserable ever since he decided to abandon my mother when he found out she was pregnant. He only ever accepted me as his son when I proved myself to be valuable to him, and he’s using the mental shutdowns to further his own political power.”

There. That’s everything, really, in a nutshell, a nutshell that Goro sort of wishes he could crawl into now and seek refuge in. Akira’s not saying a word. If Goro could read minds, he’s fairly certain Akira’s would be full of tornadoes right about now. It’s a lot of ground-breaking information to process all at once.

Finally, Akira speaks up.

“You’re behind the mental shutdowns,” he says, searching for confirmation.

Goro nods.

“And you’re doing all this to get back at your father?”

Goro nods again. He doesn’t want to say any of the words aloud again.

He tries to read Akira’s face, but finds his own emotions to be too demanding to push to the side. He’s not that different, is he? Akira would be a hypocrite to laugh at him, to berate him. Everybody in his group of reprobates with a slavish devotion to righting personal wrongs has a similar story. He just found them all sooner, before they devolved into… whatever it is Goro’s become.

“We could do it together,” Akira says.

“What?”

“Take down your father. Steal his heart.”

_Would your friends even want something like that?_ Goro thinks, bristling. None of them seem to be the president of the Support & Help Goro Akechi fanclub. “I don’t need your help.”

“I know that.”

He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t look angry either. He looks—understanding, consolatory. Doesn’t he get it? Has he plugged his ears to stay deaf to Goro’s big bad past?

Goro shoots to his feet. Akira’s lack of anger has pulled out his own to replace it, however nonsensically.

“Don’t you understand?” he shouts. “It was me. The whole time, it’s been me! I was behind the shutdowns. The people on the train! The fast food employees! Wakaba Isshiki, Kobayakawa! It was my doing!”

He doesn’t deserve Akira’s friendship, or anyone else’s. He doesn’t deserve his support or his help or his empathy. Maybe this is why he could never wrap his head around Akira and the rest of them suddenly being so damn nice to him. No one ever bothered before, not really, not without a motive or a blind devotion to his television persona, and it didn’t make sense that someone ever would.

Akira gets to his feet too. Goro waits for his rebuttal, for him to realize his masochism just in coming here, for him to match the anger Goro’s bringing to the table, but he doesn’t. He lurches forward—a punch, or even a headbutt—and crushes Goro forward into…

...a hug?

The fight drains out of Goro like someone’s pulled the stopper. Moisture springs to his eyes as if on command, bringing humiliation to the surface. One touch, one firm embrace, and he’s tearing up? Goro sets his mouth in a line, refusing to let the emotions make a sound as Akira pulls him tight to his chest.

He can only imagine that it’s pity that’s spurred this on. He struggles to free himself, to put distance between them, but Akira holds fast, refusing to let him go. Insults sizzle on the edge of Goro’s tongue, things that he could yell that would be sure to get Akira to let go and maybe even run off, but he can’t bring himself to say them out loud.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks instead when Akira doesn’t say a word, not an explanation, not an accusation.

“Nothing,” Akira says.

It feels like a good hour goes by before Akira pulls away; Goro has no idea how much time actually passes. He feels oddly boneless when the hug is over, like he’s just been squeezed into submission, a feeling that only intensifies when Akira lifts a hand and carefully, gently lowers it onto Goro’s cheek. His shaky inhale doesn’t go undetected either.

“We don’t have to be on opposite sides here, Goro,” he says. His eyes are so close, close enough that Goro could count each of his eyelashes given the time. It feels, for this moment, like he would have enough time, like they have nothing but time right now. He swallows, and wonders if Akira heard it too. “I know I’m not in a position to ask this of you, but—would you trust me?”

Goro’s brain screams at him from a hundred different directions. It’s like there’s a boxing match in his head, bells ringing and crowd screaming and two opposing sides raring to leap out of their corners, and Goro doesn’t know what he’s supposed to listen to, much less what he’s supposed to do. He’s worked for so long and so hard to get where he is now, but at the same time—

He takes a step back from Akira, suddenly aware of just how unstable his legs feel holding him up. Looking Akira in the eyes seems to cloud his judgment, so he pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his own.

“I—I need some time,” he says. “Just a bit. To think.”

He expects Akira to argue, to try to pull him back into his arms—an option Goro is both hoping for and against—but he doesn’t. When Goro dares to open his eyes again, he’s nodding.

“Okay,” he says. “Take your time.”

He takes a step back as well. The sight of him retreating nearly has Goro rethinking his need to think at all; some primal part of him is yelling at himself to grab Akira by the arm and yank him back again, to keep him close, to not end this moment so soon. Giving himself time to think also gives Akira time to think, and what if all his thinking leads him to reconsidering the olive branch he’s extended to Goro offering support, even after everything? What if he lies in bed tonight in that musty attic and turns Goro’s confessions in his head over and over until they start sounding unforgivable?

Goro’s throat feels thick. He nods, unable to form any words, and watches as Akira heads for the door. The ringing silence he leaves behind is suffocating.

\--

A restless night of sleep doesn’t give Goro too much clarity. So much of what happened the day before feels like a coin tossed into the air, which side it landed on still completely unknown. Akira had offered the help of the Phantom Thieves yesterday, but maybe he had done so prematurely. Maybe the others won’t agree. Maybe they’ll all vote to tar and feather Goro at their earliest convenience.

He lies in bed long after he’s awoken, waiting for the stiff sheets to swallow him up and transport him to a more favorable timeline. One where things wouldn’t be so complicated. One where things had gone right from the very start. Goro doesn’t even know what such a timeline would look like.

Except that he’d want Akira in it. The admission of that to himself is humiliating enough that he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

Is such a thing even possible? Could there be a future with Akira in it? Yesterday’s kiss—underneath all that stress and anxiety is the memory of it, how warm and inviting and _perfect_ it had been. But that had been before, before Akira had learned the truth about Goro’s past. There’s a chance he ran home yesterday and wiped his mouth off on any available surface to remove all traces of Goro’s DNA from his lips.

Goro’s fixated staring at the dull ceiling screeches to a halt when his phone starts buzzing on his nightstand. He lunges for it, desperate in the wish that Akira’s the one who’s calling, that he didn’t just take what he wanted yesterday and ran with it.

“Hello?”

“Oh, good. You’re up.” It’s Shido. Slowly, like an air pump is to blame, Goro feels himself deflate back into the bed. “You’re needed in my office today this afternoon. We have to discuss the... next steps.”

Goro doesn’t let his exhale be audible. “Fine,” he snaps. “I’ll come.”

“Good.”

The phone call cuts off. That hollow feeling in Goro’s chest doesn’t get any better when he scrolls around on his phone and sees no new messages, no voicemails, not a peep on the chat window.

Well. Goro did ask for a bit of time. Akira might just be granting him that much.

He gets dressed robotically, and eats breakfast in much the same way. Shido’s going to want to talk about Okumura today and smooth over the particulars of the plan. It would almost be the safer option to just go, and follow through on their scheme to the letter, and ignore Akira and all the Phantom Thieves until this is all done. He doesn’t have to turn them in. Shido would be disappointed, but wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if Goro told him he had no viable leads. Shido could maybe even be persuaded to let the Thieves plummet themselves to obscurity after they take the fall for Okumura’s death and leave it at that. Not as neat as he would’ve liked, but then again, Goro doesn’t care all that much about Shido’s satisfaction.

He sits in his apartment, thinking, trying to understand where and when it all went wrong. Was it when he agreed to let that ruffian gang into his heart, or was it long before that, when he let the dizzying power of his own Persona consume him whole? Or was it when he wielded that power to Shido’s will, who used Goro purely for his own personal gain?

One could argue that the Phantom Thieves used him too, but their reason was much less selfish. As misguided and naive their vigilante justice is, it’s in the right place a lot more than Shido’s, which is not even attempting to step foot on any morally sound ground.

He looks around his apartment, waiting for guidance, for a loving parent to tell him what to do, to lead him in the right direction. As usual, none appear. It’s just Goro.

The statue Yusuke bought him at the museum catches his eye from where he placed it in the corner. It still doesn’t quite fit into Goro’s apartment, but to no longer have it in here would rid the place of some essential character. Next to it, on Goro’s bookshelf, is the hat Futaba had given him when they all went to the beach. Futaba, the girl who Goro nearly orphaned when he had his hand in killing her mother, but still played video games with Goro in her eccentric room.

Next to it are the books he bought when he and Makoto went shopping for literature together. And in one of them is the ticket stub from when he and Akira went to the movies together all those months ago, something he meant to throw away but inadvertently started using as a bookmark.

The fruit of his friendships is everywhere, all around his belongings. There’s nothing here that Shido so much as even touched. He’s kept Goro at a carefully calculated length, not interested in being Goro’s father or his friend, just his dictator.

The realization that the choice he has to make is easy feels as if someone’s flicked a switch in Goro’s cognition without ever having to step into the Metaverse.

Now that he’s had a taste of what he’s been deprived of for so long—affection, loyalty, _love_ —he doesn’t want to let go. He’s gone from foster home to foster home looking for it, from relative to relative, from city to city. He can’t let it slip away now.

He pulls out his phone.

Goro @ 12:53pm: I won’t be able to come in today. I’m not feeling well.

He shoots off the text to Shido and turns off his phone before he can even bother himself waiting for a response. No, he has a goal in mind now, and he doesn’t need any distractions.

He grabs his briefcase and heads for the door.

\--

Goro remembers the trip to Yongen-Jaya as nothing but static white noise in his head, his nerves too fraught to focus in on anything but his own destination. He almost misses it when the mechanical voice says _Yongen-Jaya_ over the train intercom, and he shoots to his feet and hastens for the doors before he misses it.

He hasn’t called ahead, or even texted. He flew out the door like a heat-seeking missile and hasn’t stopped to plan since, which if of itself has already been a foreign, nearly rebellious sensation. Goro has done nothing _but_ plan for years, and to throw all the blueprints in the trash and follow instinct makes him feel like a child defying their parent, a scoundrel, a hoodlum. A no-good outcast, just like the people he’s searching for.

Reflex brings him to Leblanc, and once he’s right at the door, knob in reaching distance, he realizes exactly what he’s done and where he’s gone. His pulse is throbbing in his ears, louder than the rush of the ocean.

The bell jingles overhead as Goro opens the door. It isn’t until all conversation falls in a hush that he realizes that everyone’s here—all of them, sitting crammed in a booth, now staring at Goro like he’s a headless intruder. Even the cat’s there, sitting atop the table.

“Hi,” Goro says, deeply unsettled when no one makes a sound. “I… didn’t realize you all would be here.”

Akira gets to his feet. The way he’s looking at Goro like he’s a ghost come to share a cup of coffee makes it clear he didn’t expect him as a visitor. Goro tries to read the mood in the room, the body language being sent his way. It’s not as icy as he expected.

Futaba’s not there, though. That alone speaks volumes. Sojiro’s absent from behind the bar as well, possibly to give them confidential Phantom Thief time, assuming he knows.

Not that that matters. What matters is how much they know about Goro.

“I assume Akira told you about our conversation.”

They all exchange looks, unreadable as far as Goro is concerned. He doesn’t even realize how nervous he is until it occurs to him that his palms are sweating. _Just say something_ , he wants to yell, _just shout at me and get it over with_. He swallows, waiting for the onslaught.

Makoto turns to him, face diplomatic. “He did,” she says. “And first of all, thank you for not reporting us to the police.”

Goro doesn’t say anything. It’s not like the thought didn’t cross his mind. On multiple occasions.

“And second of all… we’re all sorry about what we did to you. It was hurtful, and more than that, it was selfish.”

Wait.

...what?

“I can speak for everyone here, we liked having you as a friend. We hope you can forgive us, and we can all move forward.”

Goro’s mouth has gone dry. All the moisture must’ve gone toward every sweat gland he owns, which have been kicked into overdrive. Makoto actually looks _contrite_. Next to her, Yusuke does too, chin in his hands, eyes downcast.

“...all of you?” he asks, hesitant. He looks at Ryuji, eyes narrowing. “Even you?”

Ryuji huffs. “Yeah, man. You’re not half bad when you stop being so damn up your own ass.”

That might be a compliment. Goro isn’t quite sure.

“We really are all sorry,” Ann says, hurrying to patch whatever holes Ryuji’s reply left in the integrity of their apology. “It wasn’t right to lie, but Makoto’s right. You’re awesome, and we want you around.”

Everyone nods, as if genuinely in agreement. They all like Goro. They’ve all seen his nastiest, scariest, most gruesome secrets. They all know about his Edward Hyde. They all still want Goro on their side.

Ryuji shoots to his feet. “You coulda told us from the beginning, man,” he says. “I get that you’re working on some super secret revenge plan, or whatever, but it’s just stupid to be on opposite sides here. You made yourself look mega suspicious by lying.”

Goro shakes his head. “I couldn’t have just come out with it. You can’t just—tell the world about a secret universe and secret powers you’ve discovered.”

Ryuji snorts. “Why not?”

Goro opens his mouth, truly gobsmacked by the moronic shift in conversation, but Makoto steps in first. “Don’t listen to him. Ryuji is the type of guy who would love to broadcast his powers to the world. Or at least every girl he meets.”

“Hey! All I’m saying is that he didn’t have to hide all his black mask shit for so long.”

“So,” Goro says, starting to feel a little light-headed, “what you’re saying is…”

“We’re saying we want to help,” Akira cuts in.

“Yeah. Provided you tell us everything, especially about the guy you’re working for.”

Goro turns around. “Who said that?”

“Me! Over here!”

He tries to follow the sound. The cat on the table is glaring at him again, which reminds him—

“You,” he says slowly. “You’re Akira’s cat. From the Metaverse.”

“I’m Morgana,” the cat says, which somehow explains so much and, at the same time, so little. Goro blinks a few times, but the cat is still there, still glaring. “And we get why you did what you did. You felt like you had no choice. Any one of these guys could’ve been just like you if they hadn’t found someone to help them out.” He stands up and prowls closer. “But if we’re going to do this, we have two conditions.”

“What are they?”

“One, you’re not gonna be a double agent. You play for our team only. No more mental shutdowns.” The cat settles sternly onto the edge of the table, tail curling into place. “And two, you apologize to Futaba. She deserves to hear it.”

Ryuji settles back into the booth, poking Morgana in the side. “Dude, you forgot one,” he says, turning to Goro with a smug grin on his face. “Number three, you stop bitching about the Phantom Thieves everywhere you go, ‘cause you’re about to become one.”

A Phantom Thief. Goro’s been offered to join the undercover crime group that’s turned his life on his head the last few months.

He must be dreaming. He must be suspended in some otherworldly trance, completely separated from a reality where he’s being inducted into the Phantom Thieves. This was never part of any of Goro’s plans, never something he anticipated ever happening—friendship, forgiveness, togetherness, even in the name of everything that’s happened.

He thinks of what he would be leaving behind. What would await him in this new future. He still hasn’t reached the apotheosis of his scheme with Shido, much less the resolution, and the idea of abandoning it all now feels a bit like throwing a half-finished book into the trash can.

But.

He’s also been made acutely aware of what he’ll be sacrificing in order to reach his goal. The Phantom Thieves are standing in front of him, bare, vulnerable, with their cards flat on the table as much as Goro’s, and for all the months he spent daydreaming about the glory of apprehending them, the triumph of the idea has abandoned him. He doesn’t want to see any of them be pawns in Shido’s puppet show. He doesn’t want to waste their potential. He doesn’t want to handle their trust, made anew in front of his very eyes despite everything that’s happened, with indelicacy.

He looks at all of them, cautiously, thoroughly. “And… you all want this? Me on your team?”

They don’t even have to exchange glances before they all nod. Is this truly what the Phantom Thieves are about? Helping those in need? Fighting injustice? Goro’s justice looks and feels so different. It’s been a long and personal road, a quest for vindication, a search for peace after a frayed life of anger at his missing father, after an unexpected power awakened in him and led him to all of his choices.

“We get it, okay?” Ann says. “This is about more than just someone else’s justice for you. It’s personal. And we really could’ve helped you ages ago if you had just told us.”

“It wouldn’t have been that easy,” Goro says, voice shaky. 

“It’s hard to accept help, even harder to ask for help,” Yusuke says. “I’m living proof of that.”

“Yeah. Yusuke was a real pain when we first met him,” Ryuji adds. “I mean, you were too—” Goro’s eyebrows push together. “—but we get it, okay?”

“Yeah. You’re kinda just like all of us,” Ann says. “I mean, all of us were terrorized by some awful adult and came out the other side because of it.”

Came out the other side. Goro’s never looked ahead far enough in his schemes to even consider the ultimate outcomes. He’s thought—over and over—about the immediate gratification, the sweet relish of revenge some well, but never what would come after in the long run. Preparing for a happy future just never seemed… pragmatic.

With the Phantom Thieves—people Goro previously, and virulently, wrote off as rebellious trash, the very plague of his generation—might he actually reach that elusive happy ending?

“So?” Yusuke asks. “Are you willing to join us?”

Goro looks around at all of them. Their open, imploring faces. If he had told himself half a year ago that he would be on the cusp of joining the infamous Phantom Thieves he was hunting down, he would’ve thrown himself in jail. Now—

“I am,” Goro says.

He risks a glance at Akira. He’s looking at Goro like he’s just lassoed a star out of the sky for him.

“All right,” Makoto says, straightening up. She folds her hands together on the table. “Goro, tell us everything you know on your end.”

\--

The conversation takes just as long with everyone as it did with Akira, the only difference being that his audience is now much more reactionary—Ryuji, especially, keeps interjecting a _dude_ in every other sentence.

None of them seem to expect just how complex the veins of the plan are. The shock on their faces as he details the planned Okumura assassination is proof that not only did their snooping on Goro yield little to nothing helpful as far as the grand scheme of things go, but also that they’re somewhat out of their depth with whom they’re dealing with. The Phantom Thieves are still romping around a toddler’s playground in comparison to what taking down Shido would entail, whose cognitive world no doubt has walls upon walls of safeguards.

It’s almost alarming just how clueless they are about Shido’s plans with Okumura. They had just started poking around his Palace, even Haru Okumura in the process, essentially right at the precipice of falling right into the trap Shido had laid out for them.

Except for one thing—Goro’s pulled himself out of the equation, plucked his pawn from the boardgame, leaving a gaping maw in Shido’s ambitions.

There’s a relief when he gets it all out. A weight that’s lifted knowing that he’s no longer the only one bearing the responsibility, the blame, the darkness of his own thoughts and actions.

And it’s especially satisfying to share all the dirt he has on Shido, who, in Goro’s mind, is basically little more than a skid-mark come to life. Watching the horror twist everyone’s faces as Goro talks of Shido’s cruelty and ruthlessness, on top of all the plans for political domination, is a certain degree of vindication all on its own.

When everything is out on the table, everyone’s expressions have taken a downturn for the grim. Ryuji looks like a fuming bull held back in a pen, and Makoto looks like a student about to cry over a hard algebra equation. Something about their troubled silence makes Goro panic, like he might’ve just given the Phantom Thieves exactly what they wanted, and any minute now, he’ll be cruelly discarded. It was their plan from the beginning, wasn’t it? What if—

“Wow,” Ann finally says. “To think that we were in the dark about so much stuff is kind of… freaky.”

“I agree,” Makoto says. “But we have a lead now, thanks to Goro-kun.”

_Thanks to._ That might be a sign that Goro can unclench his hands under the table, but his fingers are finding it hard to cooperate.

“So where do we go from here?” Morgana asks, shifting from paw to paw. “We can’t just leave Haru high and dry after we saw what was going on with her fiancé.”

“Maybe we won’t have to if we go straight to the problem,” Yusuke suggests. “Goro’s father.”

The cafe door swings open before the brainstorming can actually take place. Sojiro stands in the doorway, frowning when he sees them all huddled over a booth. Behind him, streetlamps have turned on. Goro hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten.

“You kids are still here?” Sojiro says, surprised. “Go home. I can’t imagine your parents are gonna be happy with all of you bunking here overnight.”

“Boss is right,” Makoto says. “We can reconvene tomorrow. We have a lot to process for today.”

They all get to their feet, grabbing their things. Goro watches it all happen with a detached sense of distance, not sure what to make of himself now. He’s turned his own life on its head in the last twenty-four hours, spilled all his secrets, and now he’s left hollow, like there’s nothing left inside him, leaving an empty ribcage with too much dead space to fill. He doesn’t know what to fill it with, not tonight, not when everything that’s happened the last few days feels like an open wound.

“I’ll go with you guys to the station,” Akira says, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

Everyone’s chattering on the way as they file one by one out of Leblanc, too deep in thought to jump headfirst into a plan, but too pent-up to stay quiet. No one seems interested in fisticuffs with Goro either, even Ryuji, which feels like a triumph in of itself, but there’s an uncertainty as to where he stands with everyone that plagues him.

How angry are they? How much do they understand? Why does it bother Goro so much if they don’t?

Has sharing everything changed Akira’s opinion of him?

They all say their goodbyes at the station, and Ann even gives Goro a tight hug before heading for her line, but it isn’t until Goro’s about to head off that Akira grabs him by the elbow.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Would you—would you mind staying a bit longer?”

He looks—hopeful. Cautionary. But the grip on Goro’s wrist is pleadingly strong.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, but—please. Just for a bit.”

Goro’s insides are screaming at him. Probably because they’re on fire. “Won’t Boss be bothered?”

“I doubt it.”

Something about the vibe Akira’s giving off makes him think this isn’t so much a friendly sleepover or boyish movie night than it is a… rendezvous. The word alone makes Goro go hot in the face.

He can hardly believe it. Here he is, about to spend the evening together with the ultimate rebel, the leader of the notorious Phantom Thieves, instead of heading home at a reasonable hour. It feels like a very teenage thing to do. Goro doesn’t have a lot of practice in that area, but he’s starting to wonder if he will very soon.

“Okay,” Goro says, slightly giddy but trying to keep it healthily under wraps. “Lead the way.”

They head back to Leblanc. Sojiro does give them a funny look when Akira returns with Goro in tow, but he doesn’t actually order him to go home or ask him if he has a curfew he’s currently flagrantly breaking. Goro wonders if he ought to put an excuse out there about grabbing a forgotten jacket or retrieving a loaned book, but before he can, Akira’s grabbing him by the wrist, thumb pressing into Goro’s palm, and pulling him upstairs with him.

The entire atmosphere is different in Akira’s room compared to the cafe; the attic is quiet, sizzling with unspoken words waiting to be brought to light. Goro can’t help but think about the first time he was here, how clueless he still was about Akira and what he meant to him. He expected learning the truth would sour the memories, but with the way Akira’s looking at him now—intensely, fondly, attentively—it makes it clear that Akira’s been feeling exactly what Goro has, all this time.

Akira takes a seat on the sofa, Goro following. For a few moments, Akira does nothing but fiddle with the hinge in his glasses.

“I just wanted to, um. Talk about what happened yesterday,” he finally says.

Goro doesn’t need to look at Akira’s reddened cheeks to know he’s talking about their impromptu kiss. He feels himself go under, like a leaking boat at sea, waiting for that moment of regret to come out of Akira’s mouth. For him to say that things have changed. That he hadn’t realized the full picture. That this is a bad idea. That he got caught up in his role of the doting friend. Goro shuts his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, Akira’s looking directly at him.

“It’s fine if you’ve changed your mind,” Goro says, and when he speaks, his voice is more stable than he anticipated. “I know that a lot has… come to light as of late, and if any of that has soiled your…” He grasps around the wrong words, finding there really aren’t right ones. “... _opinion_ of me, then, well, I’ll understand.”

Akira’s gaze has changed sharply, going from tentative to confused to shocked in a few seconds. Even that feels like a bit of an insult at this point, because Goro _is_ a detective, and he’s not blind, so Akira doesn’t have to be so surprised that Goro’s figured out one of the numerous hangnails in their relationship, if he’s even allowed to call it as such—

“What? I didn’t change my mind,” Akira says quickly.

“...you didn’t?”

“No.” Akira’s shoulders, tense with nerves, relax into themselves a bit. “I just needed to make sure you know that none of it was ever an act for me. None of it. Not yesterday, not the last few months, and what you told us today doesn’t change any of that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Insects chirping outside of Akira’s ajar window dare to break the silence stretched between them. It occurs to Goro as he looks down at Akira’s hands, tight on his knees, that he’s shaking. Physically shaking. Leader of the Phantom Thieves, fearless and brave and stupid all at once, is afraid.

Of what? Goro’s rejection? Goro’s laughter? He’s an absolute idiot. If anyone should be trembling with nerves, it’s Goro.

Goro reaches forward at the same time as Akira apprehensively does, their knees knocking. It isn’t lost on Goro just what sort of uncharted territory he’s walking around in, but that doesn’t matter right now—nothing does, nothing but the fact that if Akira can forgive someone like Goro for everything he’s done the last two years in the name of a misanthropic grudge, then Goro can forgive him too. Besides, it was an objectively brilliant plan, one that Goro is only mildly annoyed about not thinking of himself.

“So you like me?” Goro asks, voice smaller than he expects it to be.

Akira laughs like the question is too obvious to even be bothered with. “A lot.”

His hand slides toward him, gently landing on top of Goro’s thigh, thumb stroking his leg, a confirmation of his words.

“And you’d like to be friends?” Goro asks.

Akira licks his lips. “I’d like to be more than that.” Goro not running from the room screaming seems to have instilled some confidence in Akira, who scoots a bit closer. “If that’s what you want too.”

It’s Goro’s turn to laugh at an absurd comment. Akira would make a truly horrible detective—never noticing what’s right in front of him, never making even the easiest of deductions. Then again, Goro seems to have his blind spots too. Maybe he should cut Akira some slack.

“I think it’s obvious I do,” he says, “but in case that’s not clear…” 

Goro takes the plunge. Akira’s out here dangling on a limb; he can certainly do him the favor of climbing the tree as well to look him in the eye. He leans forward, pushing aside the rapid-fire beat of his heart, and slides his lips against Akira’s.

His reaction is instant. Akira sighs into the touch, as if a million wound springs are loosening in his chest, and winds his arms around Goro’s shoulders, one hand becoming lost in his scalp to stroke at Goro’s hair. The hesitation is gone now, all of it, replaced with the self-chastisement of wondering why on earth they weren’t smart enough to do this sooner. Kissing Akira is somehow both winding him up and calming him down, simultaneously arousing him and submerging him in a warm bath, making him feel safe and—dare he think it—loved.

Goro doesn’t let Akira retreat when he pulls away from their kiss. No, he’s waited long enough, and suffered through what-ifs and what-if-nots long enough, so Goro grabs him by the fabric of his shirt and tugs him back in again, angling their mouths together just right, refusing to let go. Akira makes a noise, something surprised but pleased, but then he hangs on tight too, pressing in even closer.

“Is this all right?” Akira murmurs against the tilt of Goro’s lips.

Goro hastily nods, bumping their noses. “Please,” is what his brain provides as an answer. Goro doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, but Akira seems to understand well enough, pulling him back in for another kiss.

One hazy part of Goro’s thought process not occupied with Akira’s mouth just can’t fathom that any of this is happening at all. He couldn’t have ever imagined anything like this one year ago, not the friendships, not the trust, and certainly not the part where he’s making out with an attractive boy on his bed after hours. He still hasn’t ruled out that this is all just a giant fever-induced dream.

Goro breaks away with some reluctance to breathe. “So you—you really want this? Me?”

Akira isn’t deterred by the pause in kissing; he puts his mouth to good use by trailing it down Goro’s neck, where Goro can feel it curl into a smile. “I do,” he murmurs, tugging the collars of Goro’s shirt aside. “Can I show you how much?”

Goro opens his mouth to speak, but little more than a whimper comes out when Akira bites down on the side of his neck, fumbling to loosen his tie to be able to unbutton his shirt.

“I really want this,” Akira says, running his hands up Goro’s sides. “I really, _really_ want this.” He focuses on some of the buttons, all the while letting his mouth trail hot kisses down Goro’s jugular. “I really, really, really want this, Goro.”

Something about the breathy, heated way he whispers Goro’s name snaps something inside of Goro. He groans, pulls Akira down on top of him, pushing their lips back together in an even more impassioned kiss than before, letting Akira fall between his legs and hitching them up over Akira’s hips. He’s never done this before, but his body is whispering him instructions, telling him where to put his hands and his mouth, guiding him toward what feels natural. _Akira_ feels natural, having him here like this in Goro’s grip feels natural, and right now, the idea of ever leaving this sofa feels hopelessly foolish.

Akira gets the last button on Goro’s shirt open, eagerly pushing it aside just as Goro gets to work wrenching his tie over his head without bothering to undo it. _Later_. He’s always been a planner, never one to live straight in the moment, but Akira’s bringing out a new side of him, something reckless and bold. He embraces these new traits by sliding his hands up Akira’s shirt, over the fluttering muscles of his stomach and the sensitive nubs of his nipples, reveling in how Akira’s head dips into Goro’s neck and his breathing goes shallow.

“You’re overdressed,” Goro says, tugging on his shirt.

“I can fix that,” Akira promises.

He sits up, pulling his jacket and shirt aside, and then goes for extra credit and unbuttons his jeans as well. He looks like something out of a forbidden renaissance painting, pinked cheeks, heaving chest, unruly hair. Goro wants to touch all of him. Every second he spends not doing so feels like an extraordinary waste, so he plants his hands on Akira’s newly bared chest, unbelievably warm under his touch, and tries to map out every inch.

Akira shivers under his touch. The way he’s looking down at Goro, all dark, moonless eyes, leaves Goro getting even tighter in the pants than he was before. This is happening. This is really, actually happening, and not just in the recesses of Goro’s mind, only slipping out into the daylight when he lets his mind wander into a daydream. Never even in his imagination did this scenario play out like this, post-confessions, post-accusations, but to be able to enjoy it as fully as he can right now, with no secrets or guilt weighing on his shoulders, is more freeing than Goro would’ve expected.

Akira reaches for Goro’s pants, going as far as to unzip them before his bravado seems to fade away. He looks down at Goro, breathing heavy, and leaves the zipper be—for now.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? We don’t have to if—”

Goro snaps to attention. “I’m more than okay. Akira, I’ve been dreaming about this long enough.”

Akira grins. “Dreaming about it?”

Goro shuts him up the best way he can think of: surging up and yanking him down into a kiss, coaxing. Akira moans into it, Goro’s growing fervor energizing him as well. Akira doesn’t kiss like Goro expected. Goro thought the leader of the Phantom Thieves would be rough, demanding, unyielding, but it turns out that he’s something of a slow and exploratory kisser, gentle, a stark contrast to the way Goro can’t seem to get enough of him fast enough. Perhaps a part of him is still afraid of all this going away, of Akira changing his mind or kicking him out, but as if he knows exactly what it is Goro’s laboring over, Akira breaks their kiss to softly nip at Goro’s jaw and murmur into his ear, “Can you spend the night?”

Goro’s eyes widen at the question. His hands find Akira’s sides, squeezing. “I don’t know, can I?”

“Boss wouldn’t mind,” Akira assures him. “And I’d… like to have you here.”

Warmth blooms in Goro’s chest, like the first sip of a hot drink after coming out from the cold. He arches up into the press of Akira’s mouth as it kisses along Goro’s shoulder, threading his hands into the dark hair he’s been thinking about touching for months. Even with the zipper open, his pants are feeling more and more restrictive, and he grinds upward into Akira’s thigh to get that message across.

“I’ll stay, then,” Goro says, already a little breathless. Akira’s teeth scrape along where Goro’s pulse point is thumping fast against his neck, and Goro can’t help the moan that works its way loose from his throat. “Aah, _Akira_.”

Akira’s hands frantically slide between their bodies to fumble with Goro’s pants, pushing them down his thighs, Goro lifting his hips to speed up the process. Akira’s attentions have gone southward, hungrily working his tongue down Goro’s chest, stopping to lick over a hardened nipple, mouth hot and thorough. Goro doesn’t know where to focus, what sensation to prioritize, and then Akira’s hand slips into his underwear and cups his hard-on, adding in yet another feeling to zap in on. His hitched breath gets lost in his throat as he tries to hold back a moan at the touch—how much can the cafe below hear of them right now?—but Akira isn’t interested in making silence easy for him. He wraps his hand around Goro’s cock, stroking, squeezing, thumbing his way around it, and it turns Goro into a panting mess embarrassingly fast.

It isn’t until he’s grinding helplessly up into Akira’s fist that he realizes that Akira’s still not up to speed with the no pants enforcement, which Goro vows to change immediately. He all but paws at Akira’s jeans, desperate to get them off too.

“Akira,” he whines. “Akira, please.”

Akira seems to understand even without further edification. He tilts his hips up to let Goro shove his pants and underwear down and away, leaving his cock, hard and reporting for duty, freed. It’s the first cock Goro has ever looked at with the intention of touching, and if he was worried the sight would scare him, he’s being proven wrong right now. Goro can’t wait to touch him, to suck him, to learn exactly what Akira likes best, but before he can get started, Akira’s leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

“Can I try something?” he asks.

Yes, yes, he can have whatever it is he wants. Goro nods. “What do you have in mind?”

Akira leans in to kiss him again, deeper than before, a kiss full of heat and promise. “Trust me,” he says, which Goro realizes very suddenly that he does. Completely.

He’s never trusted anyone before, not foster parents or teachers or coworkers or peers, but he’s finally figured out how to do it. And boy, does it feel insanely good to smile at Akira and give him the go ahead, to know that he’s in good hands and let the rest figure itself out.

The rest, in this case, being Akira sliding down the sofa and guiding Goro’s length into his mouth.

Goro grabs the cushions for support, lest he go rocketing off in another dimension. Akira doesn’t do anything by halves, which Goro should really know by now, but it’s still shocking just how enthusiastically Akira dives into the task at hand: sucking Goro off and carefully taking him in deeper and slowly licking him to the brink of insanity.

It feels good. Better than Goro would’ve guessed. Made better, perhaps, by the fact that Akira is the one involved rather than—anyone else.

It starts to feel even _better_ when Akira curls his hands around Goro’s thighs, squeezing, guiding them apart. It should be a humiliating position to be in, but Goro can’t bring himself to give in to anything except how overwhelmingly _good_ it feels to have Akira take him apart with his tongue.

“Akira—” Goro groans, hips twitching, desperate to get further into the heat of Akira’s mouth. He winds his hands into Akira’s hair, fingers twining into the thick strands. “Akira, _aah_ —”

Akira pulls off of Goro’s cock for a moment to breathe, gifting Goro the sight of him crouched, debauched, lips swollen, between Goro’s legs. He’s the hottest thing Goro’s ever seen in his life, and any universe in which he denies himself this is the wrong one; it just is.

“Good so far?” Akira asks.

“ _Yes_.”

“Good.”

He leans back in, suckling just the head of Goro’s erection into his mouth. His hands slip off of Goro’s thighs, one sliding over Goro’s hip while the other travels downward—downward—

Goro gasps as Akira’s thumb trails over Goro’s entrance, a barely-there touch that leaves Goro’s hips jerking. He hasn’t _explored_ much there himself, but he knows in an instant that he wants Akira to keep going, to unravel him completely.

Akira pulls away again. “Still okay?” he asks.

Goro nods frantically, licking his lips, which have gone dry, just like his mouth. Too much panting. Goro tries to find the oxygen in the room again. “Keep going.”

“Fuck,” Akira whispers, barely audible, and goes back to sucking Goro’s cock like he’s starving for it, except this time he’s rubbing his finger against Goro’s entrance in earnest, tracing the puckered muscle, applying just enough to pressure to _almost_ —

“ _Akira_ ,” Goro moans, bucking his hips, wanting him to slip inside more than anything else in the world right now.

“Hold on,” Akira says. He presses a quick kiss to the side of Goro’s knee, then stumbles to his feet and hurries over to his bed, rooting around underneath it until he pulls out a nondescript cardboard box, one that’s easily camouflaged in the mess of the room. He rummages around inside it, pushing decoys out of the way until he emerges with a small tube of lube.

A bolt of electricity shoots through Goro as Akira comes back to the couch and settles back between Goro’s legs, free hand easily finding Goro’s thigh and curling around it. The touch is so natural, so comforting, that Goro trembles, reaching for the back of Akira’s neck to pull him into a kiss.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” Akira murmurs against his lips.

Goro shakes his head. “No stopping,” he says. Not anymore, anyway. They took too many damn pit stops getting here. “ _Please_.”

“Okay,” Akira says. He kisses Goro again, like he can’t quite resist, and then once more for good measure, before he slips back down between his legs, peppering kisses—almost _worshipful_ kisses—along the line of Goro’s thigh. He stops only when Goro starts shaking, the arousal like static electricity running down his spine, his need for Akira to touch him vaulting into desperation.

The first touch of Akira’s lubed finger against Goro’s entrance is cool, slippery. Akira takes his time, gently rubbing, circling, and teasing long before he pushes in the tip of his finger, at which point Goro’s whining into his fist, ready for more. He couldn’t be further removed from his TV self right now, lacking all composure, all decorum, and all _clothes_ to boot. A part of him revels in it, being able to shed that persona for the time being and allow himself to give in to the sensations of Akira sliding his forefinger deeper, deeper, deep enough that Goro has to grab onto a couch cushion to contain himself.

It takes Goro a moment to realize Akira’s breathing has gotten a bit labored. “Goro,” Akira whispers. “Fuck, Goro, you’re—you have any idea what you do to me?”

Goro whimpers. The stretch of Akira’s finger feels like a hint of what could be, of how it would feel to have Akira fuck him, slow and steady. He looks down between his legs to see Akira, watching his finger slip in and out of Goro with rapt attention, eyes hooded and moonless. A secret little thrill runs through Goro knowing he has Akira’s entire concentration on him, nobody but him, _just him_ right now.

“Another,” Goro asks of him, shifting his hips.

“You sure?”

Goro nods. Akira obeys, slipping a second finger in alongside the first. If there’s a sting, Akira thoroughly distracts Goro from it by redoubling his efforts and drawing his cock back into his mouth, the two sensations at war with what gets priority. Goro can’t bring himself to choose, lodged between the hot suction of Akira’s mouth and the throbbing fullness of his fingers sliding inside him. The rhythm of Akira’s fingers is steady, constant, and Goro gives himself fully into it, pushing back against the intrusion until his fingertips graze something that has him gasping.

“There,” he groans. “Again, there. That’s good.”

Akira brushes against that spot again, and again, until Goro’s a mess, a puddle of incoherent words. The heat is rising in him like boiling water. He expected this to feel good, but he couldn’t have prepared for this, the inability to so much as utter a word while Akira unravels him like a spool of ribbon. He glances down and realizes that Akira’s started grinding against the sofa, as if the sheer sound of Goro vocalizing his pleasure has driven him to seek his own release. Goro throws his head back, hitting a couch cushion, and digs his heels into the sofa.

“So _tight_ ,” Akira is murmuring into Goro’s thigh when he finds the moment to speak, his hand slipping over the space where his mouth was a second ago and stroking Goro with a merciless grip. Half of the words he’s saying are getting lost in the heat of Goro’s skin, but the ones that aren’t are pushing Goro bear the edge. “So hot, Goro.”

When Akira takes him back into his mouth, further than he did earlier, Goro spills into Akira’s mouth before he can offer a warning. The pleasure of the moment drenches him, hips spasming, and it takes a few seconds for Goro to be able to find his vocabulary again.

He vaguely registers Akira’s fingers slipping out of him and his softening cock leaving the warmth of Akira’s mouth. He blinks, looking down in time to see Akira licking reddened lips. A shot of heat, like an injection of molten lava, gives Goro the burst of energy he needs to grab Akira by the shoulders and pull him closer.

“You good?” Akira asks.

“Better than that,” Goro promises him, tugging him in impatiently for a kiss.

Akira’s arousal pressing, insistent, into Goro’s thigh reminds him of the task at hand. He wants Akira to feel as explosively good as he just did, so he leans down to take Akira in his fingers and stroke him, ducking into his neck to nip and nibble at the tempting line of pale skin there. Akira’s breath goes stuttery immediately, hot puffs of air landing on Goro’s temple as Goro jerks him off slowly, gaining speed as he goes. He feels so good in Goro’s arms, so pliant, like Akira really _trusts_ him, which is enough to have Goro blinking wetness away from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want me to…” Goro stops, swallowing. He noses against Akira’s clavicle, biting down until the skin turns pink. “Do you want me to suck you off?”

“Next time,” Akira says. His chest is heaving, his air coming out short and fast. Yes, Goro thinks, very much on board with _next time_ , and next time, and the time after that, ad infinitum. “I’m so close. Goro—”

Goro knows with a certainty that he’s never going to tire of hearing Akira moan his name like that, especially when it’s all raspy from having just blown Goro. The reality of that shivers through Goro, urging him to lick over and suck on the soft spots of Akira’s neck until his skin is marked, a calling card of his very own for the leader of the Phantom Thieves. Maybe everybody else will see it soon and figure out who’s responsible. Maybe Goro will suck lovebites into being everywhere on Akira’s body until he’s satisfied. The opportunities of just where to get started next are almost overwhelming in their vastness.

It only takes a few more feverish strokes for Akira to come, stifling his moan in Goro’s neck. His forehead’s warm and sweaty against Goro’s skin, arms shaking, but he still finds the energy to press a few lazy kisses against Goro’s jugular as the high tapers off.

“I’ve been thinking about this for forever,” Akira confesses, breathless.

Happiness tickles the backs of Goro’s knees. “And did it, ah. Live up to your expectations?”

Akira peels himself off of Goro’s chest to look him in the eye. The satiated look on his face speaks for him. “More than,” he says, his smile wide.

He kisses Goro again, thumbs rubbing over Goro’s cheekbones. The kiss melts into another, and another, until it feels as if they’ve been kissing the seasons away, their only interests at the moment circling back around to each other. Naked. Sweaty. Flushed. _Pleased_.

They get themselves off the couch once it starts feeling uncomfortably sticky, and they clean up with a few tissues before Akira grabs Goro by the hand and tugs him over into the bed. It feels, oddly, like a routine they’ve done before, like something that’s somehow both thrilling in its newness and familiar in its intimacy. The cage surrounding Goro’s heart seems to shatter when they lie down and Akira folds him protectively into his arms, spooning him. Goro’s never been spooned before in his life, but he’s fairly certain that crying would not be an appropriate reaction.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Akira says into his hair.

“Me too,” Goro says.

\--

They don’t fall asleep right away. They end up talking instead, a slightly sleepy conversation turning into a longer discussion that leads the way to two AM. Yongen-Jaya is still and lulling at night, the cracked window over Akira’s bed allowing in the barest of fresh breezes. It really is so different here compared to the clinical quiet of Goro's apartment. Something in the air here lets Goro's lungs breathe.

He traces a borderless shape on Akira’s chest, pale in the moonlight. “So you and Ann—never?”

“ _Ann?_ No, never.” Akira’s arm loops a little bit tighter around Goro’s shoulder. “We’ve never been anything but friends.”

“Ah. So Ryuji, then?”

Akira’s eyebrows spike upward.

“Yusuke?”

Akira pinches the back of Goro’s neck. “No one,” he promises. “Except you.”

Goro lets himself marinate in that for a moment, in the—formerly radical—idea that that might be the truth. Even if he surgically removes all his wishful thinking, all his subjective opinions, from a clinically investigative point of view, there still is an awful lot of evidence pointing towards Akira being genuinely interested in him. Like the hand that’s curled around the nape of Goro’s neck, lazily playing with the hair there, threading the longer strands around his knuckles.

“Still?” Goro has to ask anyway. His voice comes out nearly sheepish. “Even after everything?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Akira says. He sounds almost pained. 

As if their transgressions are even somewhat equal. Goro huffs. It’s not fair now to go comparing their various offences against each other, but the longer he lays here in the warm cocoon of Akira’s arms, gifted with the affection he’s been starving for for years, the more he’s being forced to look at his own actions with different eyes. So much of it was done in anger, and hate, and white-hot fulminous malice, all under the false pretense of healing the wounds Goro’s past—mainly Shido—left behind.

He closes his eyes. He’s still not sure how he’s going to face Futaba. It’s been stressful enough today facing the firing squad that is most of the Phantom Thieves, but to add in people Goro’s personally wronged? He hasn’t even given someone an honest apology in years; he’s not sure he still knows how to properly make one.

“Stop overthinking it,” Akira says, almost sharply—the voice of a leader, Goro would deduce—before lovingly squeezing the nape of Goro’s neck. “None of it is as bad as you think.”

Maybe in the grand scheme of the universe, it isn’t. Maybe even in the grand scheme of Goro’s life. He tries to think of himself one year down the road. Five years. Ten. Well-adjusted, secure, settled, smarter than he is today. Happier.

He can see Akira there too. Different glasses, maybe, or perhaps shorter hair. His hand slides over the curve of Akira’s waist, pressing into the firm flesh as if still waiting for the mirage of his naked body to fade off.

“So—this,” Akira asks. “What do you want it to be?”

The image burns itself into Goro’s brain. A promise, or possibly a goal. Goro’s heart thumps like thunder as he looks Akira in the eye, but thankfully, the moonlight has softened everything, including Goro’s nerves. This situation—the way their legs, bare, are tangled together under the sheets, the way Akira’s arm keeps slowly brushing up and down Goro’s, the way Akira’s hair is still mussed from when Goro had his fingers tightly woven into it—is so far removed from any social situation Goro’s been groomed for that he never would’ve thought to rehearse for any of this.

Akira’s scent, all over the sheets and the room itself, calms him. “I’d like this to continue,” he confesses. _Being around you makes me dizzy,_ Goro thinks. _I like you so much it’s hazardous._

Akira’s mouth splits into a grin, the kind that can’t be contained. “I’d like that too.”

He slides his hand to Goro’s cheek and leans in for another kiss, effectively pressing pause on the conversation for at least a little while.

\--

It’s bright and calm outside when Goro wakes up, not the usual dark, sleeping sky interrupted by the shrill beeping of Goro’s alarm. Outside the window,  
Goro can hear a few birds singing, a soft wake-up call that rouses Goro out of his slumber. It was a warm slumber, comfortable, gentle. It feels almost like the bed is hugging him.

It’s not the bed, though. It’s Akira.

The memories come back in slowly, like the last few stragglers at a marathon. The long conversation with everyone down in Leblanc. Goro talking and explaining until his throat started to hurt. The private sequel to that conversation held up in Akira’s attic, which led to…

Now the memories come rushing in like a gust of wind. The hot press of Akira’s mouth against his neck, the greedy touch of Akira’s hands on his bare legs, the reverent way Akira coaxed him to the edge, murmuring praise all the while…

Good god. Did that really all happen? The only tangible proof Goro has is how tightly interwoven his body is with Akira’s right now, whose chest is hot and firm against Goro’s back, legs pushed between Goro’s knees, hand warm on Goro’s naked belly.

It’s definitely some damning proof. Something flutters in Goro’s stomach, soaring like a happy bird in flight.

Akira starts stirring not long after. First he squirms about, his limbs probably not used to sharing such a small bed with another person, but then his grip tightens on Goro’s, as if making sure he isn’t running off in the cold light of day. (As if he would.) Akira’s lips skirt delicately over the back of Goro’s neck, leaving behind the most tender of kisses. A full-body shiver follows the touch.

“Morning,” Akira murmurs. His early morning voice is rough and even deeper than usual and it is Working for Goro. “Sleep well?”

Goro twists around in Akira’s arms until they’re face-to-face. Akira’s eyes are half-lidded, still sleepy, and his hair is particularly messy, matching the lines left on his cheek by creases in his pillowcase. Goro is hit by just how much of a privilege—one he was sure he’d never experience—it is to wake up like this, all tired and lovely and cared for, in Akira’s grip.

He’s so in love with him it’s embarrassing.

“I did,” Goro replies. “You too? I didn’t take up too much room, I hope.”

Akira shakes his head. “You took up just enough,” he says. He licks his lips, eyes flickering down to Goro’s. There goes another full-body shiver. “Any regrets?”

Akira’s hand is slowly trailing up and down the slope of Goro’s side, pausing to dip in at his waist before carrying on. It’s distracting. _He’s_ distracting. Before Goro can even process the question being asked and the response he should be providing, he gives in to the itching urge to kiss Akira on the mouth. Akira makes a pleased little sound; he must have been surprised.

“I should’ve had you sleep over sooner,” Akira says when Goro pulls away. His gaze, hungry for something that definitely isn’t breakfast, climbs down Goro’s exposed chest, but before Goro can roll on top of him and repeat last night’s activities, Akira sits up. “You want some coffee?”

Goro actually really, really does. “I would love some.”

“Great. Give me a second.”

Akira leans down to give him a quick kiss—so domestic Goro’s in danger of getting damp in the eyes—and scoots off the bed to grab his shirt, sprawled across the floor along with the rest of their discarded clothing. That careless way Goro’s pants are slung on the ground feels remarkably freeing just to look at. Goro’s always been of an immediate clothes folder kind of guy.

Akira heads downstairs to grab the coffee while Goro stares at the musty ceiling, boneless and happy and still a loopy from last night’s orgasm. He gets out of bed only to turn on his phone and check his emails, expecting a slur of angry messages from Shido about Goro bailing on him. The massive wall of new texts he sees when he first turns on his phone seems to confirm his suspicions—up until he looks closer and realizes that all of those messages are from his friends.

He’s back in the group chat. He’s both annoyed and relieved in equal measure.

The sound of the door opening downstairs, followed by muffled conversation, distracts Goro from the messages.

“—way off base when I teased you about bringing girls here,” someone who sounds an awful lot like Sojiro, except way smugger, is saying. “Just make sure to be safe.”

“Can I just get some coffee now?” Akira sounds about as embarrassed as Goro feels overhearing this.

The clinking of mugs sounds, and with it, the smell of coffee comes drifting up the stairs. Goro’s climbing back into bed just as Akira makes it to the landing, two steaming cups in hand. With his ruffled hair and the red love-bite sticking out on his neck, it’s no wonder that Sojiro figured out exactly what went on upstairs last night.

“Here,” Akira says, handing Goro his mug before clambering back onto his side of the bed. “What’re you looking at?”

Goro puts his phone away, focusing instead on the coffee. “Just my messages,” he says. “Looks like I’ve been inducted back into the group chat.” On closer inspection, he realizes he doesn’t actually recognize any of the contact names. “Who are all these people?”

Akira smiles. “Oh. That,” he says. “That’s the official Phantom Thieves group chat.”

“The official Phantom Thieves group chat,” Goro repeats. Is that _Joker_ there amongst the rest? So much makes sense now, finally, because he _knew_ that Akira didn't get that nickname because of his comedian tendencies. “And you use codenames.”

“You’re going to need one too,” Akira says. “We can all figure one out together the next time we meet up.”

Goro just hopes he’ll be retaining veto powers on any unwanted nicknames. “And afterwards?” he asks. He cups his palms around the coffee mug, focusing on its warmth, rather than what he’d really like to do, which is fasten his mouth over that hickey on Akira’s neck and see if it’s sore. “What happens then?”

“Well, I guess we start figuring out how to get into your father’s Palace,” Akira says. “And we work on taking him down.” He looks at Goro with those same considerate eyes he’s been tempting Goro with all morning. All month. All this damn time. “If that’s what you want.”

He wants anything that will let him hold onto Akira for as long as possible, and ideally everybody else as well. Although the revenge on his father, however changed the plan may be from what it started out as, would be nice too. The thought of not having to do it all alone, of not having to be a lone wolf against the tide of his own unlucky life, is overwhelmingly nice.

“If that’s something you’d all be willing to do with me, then yes,” he says.

Akira smiles, curling his hand around Goro’s knee over the sheets. “We are.” He squeezes his leg for emphasis before leaning in for another kiss. “What are friends for?”

Turns out, Goro thinks as he surges forward to kiss Akira again before he can dare to shift away, lots of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (soz that i couldn't quite fit haru in here, but the placement just wasn't quite right. PLUS i think goro killing off her father would've complicated things a bit too much in the context of this story.)


End file.
